


Ironing out All the Wrinkles

by Inappropriateggplant



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fun and innocent uses for oil, Gabriel is a dick, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, If Hell was a poorly-run spa, Inappropriate Erections, Light-Hearted, Lovesick Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Massage, Massage therapist Crowley, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Panic Attacks, Possessive Crowley, Protective Crowley, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Tension, Spa Treatments, Strangers to Lovers, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Time Skips, Touch-Starved, Verbal Abuse, cause I'm lazy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inappropriateggplant/pseuds/Inappropriateggplant
Summary: After months of hardly getting a wink of sleep each night, work dragging him down till he can barely function, Aziraphale is finally convinced to start taking steps to improve his health, starting with stress.Things go better than he could've imagined after getting a massage at a particularly daunting spa, and soon enough those sessions become part of his regular routine.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 107
Kudos: 196





	1. 9AM Sharp

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have never been to a massage therapist so I have no freakin idea how the sessions go, so......expect inaccuracies :3 (though, to be fair, any spa where Crowley works is going to be a complete dumpster fire) I didn't bother changing the names so just assume names like Aziraphale are common in this au
> 
> (these days %99 of my inspiration for fics is through ASMR videos. Seriously some of those people should be payed for their acting skills)

Aziraphale sits awkwardly in the waiting room of _Serpent Renewal Spa,_ a place he'd been avoiding making an appointment with for months now. When a coworker had pointed out how high-strung he was back in February, he realized he might not be doing as great as he thought. "You're always so tense these days", she'd said, giving him a good smack on the shoulder to prove it as the he nearly fell over. He couldn't argue with the woman, it _had_ been a long time since he'd really taken care of his body.

In his younger days he might've been able to carry on with the weight of work and his boss's demands, but now that he's nearing forty-five years of age, things are going a little too fast for him. New grey hairs seem to be peppering his blonde head every day, his face showing more stress lines than could be normal for his age. 

While he'd been pushing such things away for a long time now, telling himself he'd find a new job with less workload soon- for about six years, in fact- it's been getting to him. He's having trouble sleeping, tossing and turning till birds start singing outside. His hands are always twitching, and he constantly drops things. The final straw was a few days ago when his hands were wobbling so hard he spilled his cocoa all over a new suit...and his computer. 

It was already an outdated thing, something his boss Gabriel told him would work fine as long as he didn't click too fast. It was no great loss, he thought, but the man had been furious, yelling at him in his office while his head pounded and pounded. He got off with a stern warning, but finally decided enough was enough. He needed to manage his stress, starting Monday.

Well...the thing is, _today_ is Monday. 9 AM sharp. He'd been optimistic about the experience last night, imagining what it might be like to go to one of those fancy spas another regular at the nail salon he used to frequent raved about. Madam Tracy was quite fond of the elaborate, but...well, this place has seen better days.

He looks at the note with the name of the place that he'd scribbled out last night, squinting at his own handwriting- again, the constant jitter of his hands makes everything a tad more difficult. He isn't sure how well-staffed it is at least, a light bulb blinking in the hallway, a very angry looking person at the reception desk, an overall oppressive ambiance...he could've sworn there were a few flies buzzing around the person, now that he looks closer. Even though he'd made a reservation, he's been waiting for almost half an hour.

"Azzora-fail?" calls the unpleasant voice, as they scratch their greasy black hair. Aziraphale gives his best attempt at a polite smile, standing up as if he isn't the only customer in the room. If all the employees are that intimidating, he wonders if he should just try cancelling. Is that possible this late? He's already been called...but still, he'd signed up for a _massage_. The thought of someone so cruel-looking touching any part of him is beyond nerve-wracking. He just hopes he won't have any bruises by the time this was all over.

"Ah...Yes. _Azira_ - _phale_." What he is pretty sure is supposed to be relaxing music in the background falters for a moment, as if there is some kind of technical error, and he hears the person curse under their breath as they kick something and the music resumes, a bit more grainy this time. They're chewing gum, taking it out of their mouth for a moment to examine it and then sticking it back on their tongue.

"That way. Only room that'zz'lit." they mumble, half awake, pointing down a dark hallway. "Enjoy your stay." Aziraphale straightens up, pulse racketing as he forces his legs to move. He gives the receptionist another grin, mouthing a 'thank you' before starting his trek down the musty hall.

\---

He passes dark rooms, looming doorways that lead to darkness. The place could use a little decor, he tries to reason with himself, twitching a little harder as he nears the only room with a light coming from a crack in the doorway.

"You can do this, you can do this...it's just a little massage. Roughly... ** _sixty_ **minutes or so...and it'll all be over. You'll be able to go home after that..." He hadn't put much research into what the experience was going to be like, opting for the _deluxe relax and unwind_ package...because of course he did. It just seemed like a good idea to choose a longer option, thinking it might offer the best chance of helping his stress.

He gulps down a lump in his dry throat as he lightly knocks on the door, hands sweaty and shaky. "H...ello?" he mutters softly, peering in through the slit in the doorway at...a strangely quaint little room.

"Huh?" a voice responds. A voice that belongs to a tall, angular man who is leaning up against a wall as he looks up from his cell phone. He seems surprised. "M' sorry, are you the tech guy? I thought you were coming next week." Aziraphale bristles, wondering if he's been led into a scam after all. He'd make sure to search the internet for reviews next time...

"I'm Mr. Fell. I have an...appointment?" he mumbles, still half-hiding behind the door. The man in question doesn't seem nearly as menacing as the receptionist, but he is starting to wonder if he should walk right back out and demand a refund. _As if he has the courage to do something like that._

"Wot? I didn't get any kind of-shit!" he nearly drops his phone as he hurries to straighten himself up, clearing his throat loudly and frantically looking around on the counters for something. "I-er, apologize, sir. We're having trouble with our computer system, so I didn't hear anything about you till just now."

"It's alright, I'll just cancel-"

"No no, s'alright. Come, make yourself comfortable. I only need to get things ready, and that'll take half a second."

"If you're sure." He feels slightly more calm, but there is still a tight knot in his stomach, and he's sure at this point the man could tell how badly he's trembling. Somehow jogging and giving up coffee hasn't done much for his nerves so far. 

He sits down sheepishly on a cushy table, covered with a soft grey mat and matching towels. While he waits, he has a chance to take in his surroundings. There are many plants lining the dark walls; Peace lilies, Cast Iron plants, ivy and something that looks especially tropical that he can't identify. The lighting is warm and inviting, soft yellow lamps lining the walls and a bit of sun beading through the shades of a small window. The walls are fairly sparse, though he notices a few rather tasteful classical paintings here and there, as well as a small statue of a sneak wrapped around itself. 

The place smells sweetly of grass and amber, a light scent that helps the throb of his head somewhat as he lets out a long sigh. A few candles are lit to his right, and his fidgets with his thumbs as he watches the man pace around collecting an assortment of bottles and towels, muttering quietly to himself as he tries to collect his thoughts in a hurry. 

He isn't exactly sure what to do...no, he isn't supposed to _do_ anything, that's what has to keep telling himself. This is to be an _unwinding_ experience, something that would jump-start a healthier lifestyle. He deserves to treat himself to a relaxing afternoon, he deserves to-

"Alright, ready to take off your clothes?" Aziraphale slowly cranes his neck over in the direction of the red-headed man, blinking.

"...Pardon?"

"It's a _massage,_ remember. You've got to expose some skin so I can work with it." he snickers, walking back over to the door. "I'll step out while you get yourself ready. Be back in a tic." Aziraphale's heart begins racing uncontrollably, feeling every ounce of regret he'd been trying to snuff out come biting to the surface.

It isn't that he hasn't been expecting this. In fact, this is the part he's been dreading since he stepped foot in the spa, knowing he'd have to peel away what little hides his body from judging eyes. Gabriel's harmless comments about his weight throughout the years have been getting to him.

With a heavy heart he starts to unbutton his vest, the velvety material slipping off and giving way to warm, humid air as he works to undo his shirt as well. When the garments fall to his lap, he stares down at them, clutching them for comfort. 

"It'll be done before you know it, my dear boy." he whispers to himself, folding up the pile and setting it to the side before climbing up on the table and hugging the towel against his chest. He doesn't even bother with his trousers, knowing full well how humiliating it'd be to have someone grip into handfuls of fat and stretch marks. This was already going to shatter any sense of self-confidence he'd forced into himself this morning, having repeated every positive mantra he could think of in the mirror.

The redhead opens the door a moment later, giving him a long grin- a bit strange looking, his teeth sharper than most. "Oh, forgot to mention it but the name's 'Crowley'." An odd name for an odd man, Aziraphale thinks- though he supposes he doesn't really have much place to judge. His own parents were quite religious, and had an affinity with very elaborate names. "Believe it or not I'm a Massage Therapist. Went to school for it and everything." He can't tell if he's joking or trying to reassure him, but pushes the thought to the back of his mind and tries to laugh.

"I've no doubt. You seem very...professional." he mentally slaps himself as he tries to think up with a compliment that doesn't somehow come off as an insult, the quivering of his tone not helping the matter in the slightest. "Um, I suppose you can tell, but this is my first massage. Really, my first time being to any sort of spa establishment."

"S'no problem at all, everybody's a little shy their first time." Aziraphale blushes, knowing Crowley must've already picked up on his shaking. He's practically rattling the table by now. "Here's how this is going to go. You tell me what you like, what you don't, and take a good long break from thinking. Sound good?"

"A break from thinking..." That idea sounds lovely. The loveliest thing he can imagine, but... how? His head always races with future plans, going over past mistakes, wondering which is the right way to act at any given moment. He is in an unfamiliar environment around someone he's only just been introduced to. It's impossible to _not_ think.

"Alright, you want the oil scented?" he questions, a bottle clinking in his hand as he shows it to the waiting man. "There's plenty of florals, herbals...think this one is almond and...vanilla?" he squints at the label, trying to read in the dim light. "Wait, no. Almond and orange."

"Whatever you think is best." he mumbles, quickly positioning himself back on the table, throwing the towel over his stomach since he isn't really sure what else to do with it. Embarrassed couldn't even begin to describe how he is feeling, fat spreading out as he sinks down against cushions. He wants to leave, hide back in his bookstore, but bites his lip and continues to wait. He is _going_ to get through this. It's only a little massage. This is going to be good for him.

"You can take a little nap if you like. S'not like you have much else to do in the meantime. From the looks of things, I've got a lot of work to do."

"I'm sorry." he mutters softly without thinking, face heating up as he realizes it'd slipped out.

" _Sorry?_ Mr. Fell, you probably saved us from going under by the end of the month. Business has been... _less than optimum_ since there was a change in management last year." He relaxes a little, realizing Crowley must've been oblivious to his constant twitching after all. His breath is coming out in quick, shallow puffs, body tense and tight, and the other man seems so calm by contrast. Oh how he envies that. "Dunno how you decided to come here of all places, but I'm not complaining. Would've quit if we lost one more staff member... to _resignation_ , not murder, believe it or not."

"Oh, is it just you working here?"

"There are a few others, though half the time they don't show up- ack, guess I shouldn't be whining about my job. In any case, thank you."

"Ah, well...you're welcome." He's a little bewildered, still processing the newness of everything. The man comes closer, tipping over a dark glass bottle into his hand. Aziraphale hadn't really noticed much about him till now, too caught up in his own worries to stop and observe. Crowley's hair is slightly messy, so red he assumes it must be dyed. Crowley is wearing a smooth, plain black outfit, sleeves nearly down to his elbows. He's much leaner than himself, he can tell even with how relaxed the outfit is, with sharp features that define his face and muscles...he's much more attractive too, in fact. He tries not to let his eyes linger.

He jumps as a palm meets his cheek, clamoring to mask the string of shivers that immediately run down his entire body. 

"Sorry, are my hands cold?" His face looms up above, and Aziraphale shuts his eyes tight. "People complain about that sometimes."

"No, no, ah...it just feels a little new, that's all." What strikes Aziraphale most is how strange it feels to be touched by another person. He'd been given hugs and kisses by his mother as a child, but that seems so terribly far away now, lacking the confidence to even think to reach out and shake hands with people most of the time- which made every new interaction difficult. Time has left him more or less a hermit when he isn't at work, just trying to stay on top of paperwork to avoid another reprimand from one of his superiors.

"Okay, well make sure to tell me if anything doesn't feel good. You're the one calling the shots here." He nods, feeling thumbs press down over his eyebrows. "We'll start with your face, and then move onto your arms, neck and shoulders, and then finally your back. You'll feel like jello by the time I'm done with you." Aziraphale already feels that way, but not due to relaxation. He feels simultaneously more tense and more boneless than he's ever felt in his life. 

Those hands are rough, calloused and hot, slender fingers practiced despite his overly-casual demeanor. Every touch is gentle at the moment, just smoothing around and mapping his face out.

He pulls a bench up behind the table, sitting down as he picks up a bottle and squeezes some soap into his hands and rubs it into a nice lather. He brings them back to Aziraphale's face and cups his cheeks, touches feather-light. It's a soft foam, smelling of blueberries and sage, and it's soon worked around over his entire face.

Aziraphale is trying not to shiver, finding it hard as the hands rub over his chin and neck, touching sensitive flesh that's never been given so much attention before. The man brings one hand back over to a basin on a side table, the sound of water dribbling as he dips a sponge in and wrings it out before pressing it against Aziraphale's face to wipe away suds.

His instincts are screaming at him to _say_ _something_ , break the silence that's settled into place over the last few minutes, but he's also afraid to bother the man now that he's started working. He's not used to quiet spaces of time, just being in the presence of someone without having to exchange pleasantries. Thankfully Crowley's humming quietly behind him, mouthing words to some song he hasn't heard before, though it sounds vaguely familiar. 

After a minute his face has been washed clean and patted dry with a warm, fluffy cloth, and the man starts smoothing a fingertip of cream over his damp face. Aziraphale hasn't been taking care of his skin for the past few years, having had a strict routine back before he began feeling so out of touch with day-to-day life. It feels wonderful, a faint scent of mint sinking down into skin that's been starved of moisture. He hardly noticed how parched he's been till now. 

This is when he realizes the actual massage has begun. Well, it's all still a little nerve-wracking, but Crowley's being so gentle with him. If he can just keep himself calm and wait a little longer, it can't be so bad, right? 

His brows tense as the man rubs into his temples, kneading around his forehead and smoothing a bit more lotion in to give him a more slippery surface. He curves his fingers into a v-shape, cupping his thumbs into Aziraphale's chin while he works around his jaw. Just the sensation of him stroking down his face makes his skin tingle in an odd way, though not unpleasant.

He kneads into the sides of his face, applying pressure on the skull in a way Aziraphale certainly isn't used to. He speaks instinctively, tensing more than he can bear. It's too much, too much at once and he feels somehow claustrophobic as the fingers close in around his eyes. 

"Ah- you mentioned I could...tell you if I didn't care for something...right?" he mumbles shamefully, regretting his choice to speak almost immediately. 

"Course', course'."

"Well, would it be at all possible for you to avoid my face? I'm feel just a tad...sunburnt."

"Sure thing." Aziraphale is relieved to hear the response, but at the same time he's mentally hitting himself for so rudely interrupting. Crowley backs away and pokes through a shelf, bottles clinking around.

All at once, a hand touches his arm, and he jolts in his seat.

" _Sorry_ , _sorry_ , forgot to warm it up first." Crowley quickly withdraws his hand and starts rubbing them both together, the squelch of oil between his fingers somehow making Aziraphale a little warmer. "Okay, this should feel better." Aziraphale shudders, the man slowly rolling them down and around in long strokes. They curl inwards as they reach his wrist, dragging back up and repeating the motion a little harder.

When Crowley starts the massage, pressing his thumb down into stiff flexors, this is a different story altogether. His grip is strong, firm, and Aziraphale's muscles resist every second of it.

"Fuck, you're so _tight_..." Aziraphale's eyes shoot open at that comment, bristling. He's thankful that the man didn't see him gawking as if he were just called something very obscene at church. "Your muscles are so tense I could probably crack a nut between them. Just how stressed have you been as of late?"

"Work hasn't been so... tickety-boo for me lately either." he grumbles, squeezing his eyes back shut as Crowley looks over at him in confusion. 

"Tickety-what?" 

"Ah...it hasn't been very good. Things just seem to be moving to fast for me to keep up with these days. Everything is about efficiency, a race to beat competitors to the finish line. I'm just getting a little old for it all. You know how office jobs can be."

"Nonsense. Could've mistaken you for a model." This time Aziraphale chuckles, something he isn't used to doing much these days. It surprises him a little, and he soon draws back into his mental shell. "How's it feel? Too hard?"

"...How exactly am I supposed to feel?"

"Er...I don't think there's really a set way to- well, a slight pressure that gives way for relaxation. You see-" he splays his fingers wide, gripping in deeply and then sweeping them to the side, "You've got to get into all the nooks and crannies to really iron out all the wrinkles, so to speak."

"Goodness knows I have plenty to iron."

"Really? Your outfit was so neatly- _oh_. Ah...Mr. Fell, something tells me you haven't taken any time for yourself in a _long_ while." He's speaking the truth, Aziraphale knows it, but feels hurt at the comment anyway. He's been trying so hard, and it never seems like enough.

"I'm just not so good with knowing when to slow down, I suppose."

"Well then you've come to the right person, because that is _exactly_ what I'm meant to help you do." He takes Aziraphale's hand between his own and starts rolling it around slowly, rubbing a little more oil into his fingers as he goes. He presses both his thumbs into Aziraphale's palm, alternating which swipes upwards. "No need to clench so much, m'just getting into these metacarpals a little." He realizes he'd been slowly locking his hands into a fist, quickly spreading his fingers again.

"I can't seem to get myself to loosen up at all..." 

"Don't worry, it can be a bit of a reflex if you're not used to this. Here-" he curls his fingers around the other's, bringing his palm to face downwards as he lifts his elbow higher. "Grip all you want. It'll help flex out your tendons so I can get a better hold of em'."

"Okay." he says dumbly, letting one eye open slightly so he can watch the meat of Crowley's hand sink over his knuckles, see the veins on the other side and all the way up his tanned arm. He's only ever known such a grip when his mother used to scald him, associating it for a moment as something to tense even further from, but swallows and reminds himself it's only a massage once again. 

Crowley slides down to his biceps, continuously gripping and releasing, kneading and petting. It's especially strange when he pulls outwards, folding the fat between his fingertips and moving Aziraphale's hand as he goes to get different angles.

When the man gets to his deltoid, he pauses to look up at him, feeling somewhat vulnerable. Crowley takes his elbow with his other hand, keeping his forearm to the outside as he steps back, bringing Aziraphale's arm with him.

He feels suddenly much less guarded, his arm behind his head now, held firmly as Crowley hums a little out of tune and presses into his triceps, forcing the tension that desperately seeks to weave itself back into his muscles to release. He reaches an especially warm hand under his deltoid, rubbing around his shoulder and keeping it secure.

Aziraphale watches Crowley's face shift from one section to another, concentrated on every small movement. His eyes are covered by a curious pair of sunglasses- though, now that he thinks about it, everything about the man is a little curious.

He's so absorbed in watching that he hardly notices when Crowley had finished, moving on to the other arm. The next few minutes pass by in much the same way, though Crowley seems to be a little more confident to use extra pressure. It's so odd, sensations on the verge of pain but quickly followed by ease.

"Alright, time to move on to your neck." he whispers, and Aziraphale quickly closes his eyes as the man walks behind the table, folding his hands into c-shapes and wedging them around the area between his neck and shoulders. His thumbs are on bottom, the rest of his fingers on top, squeezing together slowly. He presses in and out, making circular motions every few minutes and then repeating at a slightly different angle. 

He draws the tissue up towards his palms, increasing the speed a little. Aziraphale can tell he's working into a particularly tight knot, because as soon as about five minutes pass a small noise slips out of his mouth, one that surprises even himself. 

"You okay, sir?"

"Ah-yes! I do apologize, I don't know why I did that." Crowley chuckles in a strange voice, picking up his squeezing again, tighter.

"S'alright to make some noises if they happen. Sometimes it's just a good indication that you're making progress." His hooks his fingers in between Aziraphale's shoulder blades, holding some pressure along the top of his spine. "Mind flipping over for me?"

He nods, slowly rising up on the table and letting Crowley take ahold of the towel while he gets into position. He feels even more exposed somehow, not being able to see what would happen next.

Just when he's finally readied himself for the next touch, his phone starts buzzing on the counter.

"Ah, I apologize, Mr. Crowley!" he stutters, starting to lift himself up to check it, but pauses. "Oh...I told myself I wouldn't be taking any calls today. Just let it ring." He mushes his face down into the pillow, huffing obstinately. 

"Trying to get away from from it all, hm?"

"Yes. I made a promise that today I was going to relax, and I intend to keep it!" he speaks with resolution, and the man laughs under his breath, starting to rub into his neck. 

"I respect that." Crowley cups his whole hand over Aziraphale's neck, dragging upwards while his other one lightly strokes over his skull. He's been worried till now that the folds of fat around his neck might hinder the man's ability to grip the muscle underneath, but he seems to be having no trouble at all, cleverly squeezing with the perfect amount of pressure. Oh, he really had been working himself up over nothing. There was never anything to worry about...he'd booked an appointment, said all the right things and everything was going fine. Crowley doesn't seem disgusted by him in the least, and if he is he's doing a fantastic job of hiding it. At last a little of his stress starts to melt away.

He lets another sound slip out, not as self-conscious this time. It's somewhere between a sigh and a yawn, and the hands that are beginning to slide down to his back twitch ever so slightly. He hopes he isn't being annoying after all.

"Still doing good?" Crowley is smoothing his palms in large circles, distributing more oil along. He grabs the muscle around his waist, rubbing smaller circles there, then back up. He returns to the same area, this time using both hands on top of each other to knead more thoroughly into the area, repeating on the opposite side. 

"Of course. I have to admit...this feels absolutely lovely." He nearly squeaks when the movements grow harder, the man dragging his hands across in fists, rolling his knuckles down his spine. The movement doesn't hurt, but it seems to get straight to the core of the tight sinew.

"Yeah? How about _now?_ " Aziraphale didn't honestly know how to answer, arching slightly as he felt his muscles fight and fight and eventually fall victim to the ministrations. The movements are almost aggressive, yet somehow skilled enough to know the limit between easing tension and causing ache. Though he knows a professional would be well aware of that line, it still surprises him.

He squeezes flesh between his fingers, rolling it through before releasing, and does this all the way down his back, then finally slows down a bit. Aziraphale feels like he's been holding in a breath for years, and is only now letting it out, moaning freely into the air before letting himself be completely limp. He's never felt this relaxed, at least not since he was a child. Before life got in the way. His eyes droop, the scents and sounds of oil working into skin lulls his mind to a soft doze. He wants these moments to last forever. 

"All done." Crowley breathes somewhere above his ear, sounding far away as he jerks himself from the pull of sleep. "Congratulations, you survived the work of J. Anthony Crowley."

"Oh dear, already? I believe I actually was nodding off just then. I can't remember the last time I was relaxed enough for a nap...oh, that was just astounding." he sighs, slowly rising. "I'd been told getting a massage could feel wonderful but I had no idea to what degree." he sits there for a moment just smiling in a happy daze, then blinks and searches for his wallet. "Right, right. Give me a moment to dress and I'll get you a nice tip."

Crowley doesn't bother to leave the room this time, avoiding his gaze as he picks up a bottle and mists the plants, shifting from side to side. "Yes, well, er...remember to hydrate well after you leave. S'abit like a workout. Muscle tissues can become dehydrated."

"Of course. I think a hot cup of tea sounds just terrific after all this." As he finishes buttoning up his vest, he fumbles around in his wallet and hands him a good few pounds. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Crowley. I believe I may actually have a chance at falling asleep at a decent hour tonight." He gives him one last smile before gathering up his possessions and starting to walk out of the room.

"Ah-hold on, um...there just so happens to be a sale going on next week. Just in case you're interested."

"Oh really?"

"Yea, fifty percent off for the _entire purchase_ \- first three customers only. Seeing as business has been so scarce, I'd say you have a pretty good chance of getting the deal. You know, just something to think about." Aziraphale can't help but feel sorry for the man, knowing how much he must be dying to get regulars. Well, he decides it isn't such a bad idea to add these visits to his routine...no, he knows it'd be a good idea. A fantastic one. He hasn't felt this good in years.

"Honestly...sale or not, I think I'm going to need to book another session sometime soon. I haven't felt so at ease for...well, as long as I can remember." he chuckles, looking down at his hands and realizing they weren't twitching or shaking at all. "Thank you again, Mr. Cr-"

"Crowley's fine. Just Crowley." 


	2. Junk Mail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update (mainly because I've been on an old-kids-show-watching high to block out the horror that is 2020...yes I watched all of Invader Zim for the first time in the last 3 days after seeing the movie...>.> *cough* please watch it, it's so good *cough*) but hopefully this will make your day just a lil better ❤  
> It is almost 3 in the morning where I live but the sentiment is the same  
> (Angst coming in the next chapter! 😈)

"You did _what?"_ Beelzebub glares, rubbing their eyes with exasperation as they look down at a terribly-drawn outline for a coupon that Crowley flings down on their desk. "You promised a customer ** _fifty fucking percent_ _off?!_** You didn't even think to run that little piece of information past me first?" 

"Hey, hey, just think for a moment. This is good for business! We need real regulars, don't we?" Crowley stammers, grabbing the template and frowning down at it, erasing a pencil smear. "Alright, so this doesn't exactly look perfect, but I'm no graphic designer, alright?"

"I don't give a damn about how the ad _looks_ , idiot, I'm pizzzt that you went behind our backs and made an offer that's going to rob us blind!"

"It's only once, don't be so dramatic...I was only going to give it to one customer is all..." He looks at the coupon again and crumbles it up, picking up a pen and starting another copy on a wrinkly sheet of paper. "Just you wait, I'll have this looking spotless soon. Give just me his address and I'll mail it over, it'll look like the real thing. I mean, I guess it is technically the real thing, I've just never-

"Shut your trap, Crowley! Your lunch break is long over. Fuck...you're lucky we're understaffed as is, or your arse would be on the pavement right now."

"Come on, you said we need customers, right? You _said_ the company might tank if we don't pull in more people. So, this could be our ticket! All we need to do is entice Mr. Fell a little more, show him we're worth his attention."

"Why do you keep talking about that bloke? What about the bazztard that came in last week, or-"

"I said _regulars_. He really seems like he needs a way to relax, a proper routine, and what better way than with my clever hands working out his stress, hm?" Beelzebub gives him a long stare, shaking their head slowly.

"I see what Garry meant when he told me you were a little 'special'..."

"Exactly! I'm telling you, this is our ticket. If we get him hooked, he'll spread the word to his colleagues, his family. Word travels quickly if you're as appealing as him. I imagine he has all sorts of friends, and I also imagine they'd listen to everything he says. He has a way with words you know, makes you want to hear more. He sounds like an _angel_. Looks like one too. Probably a complete social butterfly." He isn't really listening to himself, midway through the scribbled project. "Say, are you any good at drawing circles? Please don't make me resort to something like Photoshop...I don't have near enough patience for that."

"Fuck off, leave me out of it. I've got to figure out this new computer system before another problem comes up. You weren't even here when I got my head bitten off for getting a simple name mixed up yesterday. Jezzus... 'Michael', 'Micky', 'McNeal'...who gives a shite...people are so sensitive."

"Fine, fine, I'll fuck off faster than you can spit in my direction...but first you need to tell me how to spell 'analgesic'." 

"You're not also going to drug the man, are you? I'm pretty sure that's against company policy."

"Oh, is that what that means? Maybe 'serene' or ' _somnolent_ '...oh yeah that one sounds spot-on."

"I'm going to ignore you now."

\---

Aziraphale groans as he gets out of bed, stretching out muscles that are a little sore from being worked so much after years of neglect. He jogged a good portion of the evening before, filled with a kind of energy he hasn't known since his early thirties. He's taking care of his health, making improvements here and there that'll go a long way, and he's feeling rather proud of himself.

The store feels brighter, cleaner, like he's somehow managed to dust the very air that's been clinging in his lungs- though that might just be because he finally opened the windows last night. Either way, the sluggishness quickly dissipates as he goes about preparing for a day off, something rather rare these days. He initially felt terrible about calling in sick, having pushed through actual illnesses in favor of getting work done in the past regardless. No, today he's really going to enjoy himself. 

It's been a few weeks since his first visit to Serpent Renewal Spa, and he's been itching to book another appointment, though he knows to pace himself. As much as he'd love getting his muscles rubbed every single day, such a thing is not only impossible but improper. He doesn't want to seem too excited, make a fool of himself in front of Mr. Crowley...though he supposes the redhead might not even be there next time he visits. He dreads having to go through the process of accustoming himself to another stranger's touch, as silly as the idea sounds.

He keeps pushing the thoughts away when they come, reminding himself that he's only reacting in such a way because of his tendency to overthink. He of course has gone over every detail of the first visit from beginning to end at least thirty times by now, from the moment he'd stepped foot in the spa to the very end, when the man made direct eye contact and smiled. Somehow he feels as though that was the first time in many years he's felt a connection to someone in such a short amount of time, but again reminds himself that this is only because of manners and etiquette. It would be rude not to smile.

Realizing he'd been pondering the visit yet again as he bends down to pick up the mail that's been deposited by a rusty slot, he scolds himself and remembers how many things there are too do even if he's having a rest day. Life will not stop for him just because he wants it to- he thinks of all the restaurants he hasn't visited for years, all the books that've been collecting dust on his shelf, all the things he hasn't given a thought to since work got the best of him.

There's a piping-hot cup of decaf coffee in nestled in one hand as he sits down on his sofa, considering if he should meditate on the peace for a while or find something easy to fill his morning while he devours a rather large plate of eggs and sausage, a drizzle of maple syrup collecting in the center.

He's carelessly flipping through the mail, rolling his eyes at a number of bills and angry letters from customers he'd refused to sell to (he makes a note to bring up his slight hoarding habits on his next therapy session) and finally comes across a strange, black card with vibrant-red lettering. It reads "GIFT CERTIFICATE: 50 PERCENT OFF FOR 3 CUSTOMERS" and a few inches below, "Congratulations, if you've received this coupon, you're one of the lucky winners of our annual sweepstake at Serpent Renewal Spa! Valid for any service, EXTREME VALUE." It looks a little like something he might find advertising a Halloween party rather than a spa treatment.

Aziraphale has to chuckle at that, shaking his head as he catches a misspell and looks over the outrageous font. They certainly could use an employee with experience in typography, he thinks with a smirk. 

He looks a little closer and notices a smaller line of text, seeing a small bar under which there are the words "For more information, contact JACrow@Imymail.com. Well, if he hadn't been there for a session already, Aziraphale would swear the card was nothing but a scam. He isn't even sure if the email address is legitimate. 

He gets a mischievous idea.

Setting aside his half-eaten breakfast for the time being, he walks over to his old, creaking desktop computer and waits patiently for it to power on, taking another sip of his coffee with a sneaky grin. The machine whirs to life, a tiny dust cloud spewing off around it when the air vents rattle out their near-dying breaths. He could really do with a replacement, but isn't particularly in the mood for figuring out how to work one of the new, fancy devices he sees his peers ramble on about. He's a little old fashion, admittedly. 

It takes a while for the browser to open, hanging on a loading symbol for nearly two minutes as it wakes from a long slumber. It's been a while since he's checked his emails, preferring to use the computer at his office instead, since at least he knows what to look for. His personal email inbox is filled to the brim with junk, piles of ads and spam he has yet to clear out. 

Regardless, he clicks the compose button and takes another look at the card in his hand, typing in the address as he tips his cup upwards and gulps down the last of the tepid liquid, slightly reminiscent of almond and vanilla. 

He presses his cursor down and stares at an empty page, wondering just what to write. He isn't sure why he's even gotten this far, mostly curious if he'll actually get a reply. It's worth a shot; if nothing else he'll know Crowley has an affinity with fabricating things for dramatic effect, as he can tell from the rest of the advertisement, still smiling to himself.

"Hello, I've recently received a letter in the mail with this email address marked on it, and would like to know a little more about this spa establishment. All the best..." he hesitates for a moment, hovering his fingers over the keyboard for no reason in particular before adding, "...A.Z. Fell." 

He steps away from the computer and walks back to finish his meal, reaching for a large stack of books. By the time he pours himself another cup of coffee, he's more or less forgotten about the card, and is quickly getting lost in the works of Shakespeare for the first time in years. He knows it already: today is going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear every time I write 'Serpent Renewal Spa' I giggle to myself like a 5 year old. I'm so good at naming things aren't I 😭


	3. A Hell of a Schedule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (FYI the company Aziraphale works at is this universe's version of Google lol. Thought it'd be fitting since they're known for bein shady and dominating like, every aspect of human life)

Morning has come far too soon, Aziraphale decides, rubbing his eyes as he pads around his shop in baggy pajamas and slippers. The sun isn't up yet, and he has a bit of time before he needs to leave for work, so he sits down in front of his computer and waits for it too boot up while drinking some leftover cocoa from the fridge. He watches the loading screen reflect in his mug, neon blue in the murk of cold chocolate, twiddling his thumb restlessly around the rim. 

He sucks on a finger thoughtfully, scanning through emails, deleting a few ads and promotions. He feels a tinge of excitement when he sees a response from the note he'd sent yesterday to the assumedly _fake_ email address, clicking into it curiously. 

The font is just horrid, the words large and bold and...all capitalized? It looks as though the creator had some fun with formatting at least, Aziraphale ponders, shaking his head and chuckling as he looks over it. 

It reads: "Hello, Mr. Fell. We are very happy for your interest, and will gladly answer any questions you may have. _Serpent Renewal Sp_ _a™_ was founded in 2001 and has been run by a tight-knit community ever since" _Well_ , Aziraphale thinks with an amused grin, _that's one way to put it._ "We have a passion for health and wellness through massage therapy, and currently offer the following services:"

He goes down a list of packages, surprised to find that not only are the prices cheaper than what he'd read on the original information slip he'd received before visiting for the first time, but there is now the option for up to eighty minute sessions. That's new. Maybe he'd been given outdated information in the past, he thinks as he looks down at a forgotten note left on his desk from a month ago from which he'd gotten the information of the establishment.

There are all kinds of massages available, ranging from prenatal to reflexology. Even a sauna room add-on, though he finds that hard to believe, remembering the dark, creaky building with a shudder.

He continues reading the text farther down: "We are eager to service our customers and provide the epitome of care to each and every person who walks in (He snickers at that. How terribly _dramatic_ ), and would love to receive any feedback you may have that might help improve your experiences in the future. Feel free to reply with any questions or concerns, or give us a call." 

There's a small signature at the bottom which reads the same name as the email address, but then next to it is an even smaller phone number. Seeing as "666" is in the last row of numbers, he knows immediately that it's fake, but saves it into his contacts nonetheless. Everything about this spa is odd.

He panics as he looks at the clock and realizes he's going to be late, nearly tipping over his mug in the process.

\---

Aziraphale had been scanning job search sites for possible options in his free time for months now, but doesn't even know where to start. He's lucky to have gotten this job, he tells himself; he makes a decent enough salary, and he shouldn't complain. Despite this, he isn't happy, not at all. He knows there are far more enjoyable careers, and considers the idea of becoming a librarian or perhaps a professor, a job where he can put his love of books to good use and spend a majority of his days in quiet solitude...but then he'd have to look into universities and right now all he can really do is try to stay on top paperwork that's been piling up every second he turns his eye for more than a moment.

His boss Gabriel is...well, a tough person to get along with. He's strict and precise, likes everything done a certain way, and he feels he's been doing better job of making him satisfied in recent years, but still...their personalities simply don't mix. Ever since day one, Aziraphale knew he was in over his head.

They'd initially bonded after meeting at a church, and he'd seemed like such a nice fellow. Tall, direct and bold. They visited after every Sunday since then with a group of others, and after a few years he'd been given a job offer as an office assistant at a very esteemed company, ARC, seeing as Gabriel was turned out to be a high-ranking business man who had family ties with the company, as well as a lofty position therein. Aziraphale had jumped at the chance, having worked as a Sunday school teacher for nearly the last decade due to...well, many little personal reasons. The church had been quiet, easy enough on his nerves, but he'd been looking to find a new career. A fresh start.

He'd worked here for six years since then, and within that time his emotional health had been declining at a steady pace. Long hours in a building filled with the scent of chemicals and stress was the last thing he needed, but well, he was too nervous to even begin to think about resigning anytime soon. He had a routine, at the very least, and those had always been especially difficult for him to break. Not to mention, he was past his prime. He had a job, a very small bookshop in his home -which had hardly opened to the public since he'd started working full time here, the place was technically still owned by his relatives, but well...life was alright. As long as he kept eating regularly, exercising, managing stress, he'd manage.

He tries to squeeze in a moment of meditation before the elevator screeches to his floor, but a mob of people rush in with every stop. He keeps his eyes down, cramming into a corner so nobody will run into him, some reeking of coffee and cigarettes, talking loudly into phones.

When he finally steps out, he breaths his usual sigh of relief and then again to calm his nerves a bit more, already knowing what to expect. His head feels light, his whole body a little wobbly. He's operating at a human speed in a company run by those who have somehow surpassed the usual limits of productivity. 

The walls around are white and clean, light reflecting off smooth, overly-polished surfaces. His small cubicle is crowded with paperwork, situated in a corner where an air vent blows right down on him even on the coldest days.

His seat squeaks as he sits down, threatening to crumble under his weight, swirling around to face his desk. He hesitantly turns on his work computer, which has recently been replaced since the coffee incident last month, and he's still trying to figure out how to work with it. Its login screen flashes the company logo, the word ARC in radiant lettering- which is quite literally all-consuming in this building, plastered over everything in sight. 

Sighing, he presses the button to play the messages left on his answering machine on his right while his computer loads, humming and tapping his foot. People are whispering around him, some definitely mentioning his name in their conversations. The place has a certain tension about it, more than usual anyway, and he wants to shrink into his seat. If only there aren't parcels to carry, areas to maintain, filing to do, calls to take, supply to inventory, events to plan out, and...oh, he's getting a headache just thinking about it. Unfortunately he's left his painkillers at him.

The voices drone on, information and updates about the latest software upgrades that need to installed, letters to be signed, this and that and all he can think about is how he forgot to eat breakfast again. His stomach grumbles loudly, and he tells himself to hold out till lunchtime...if he'll even have enough time for one. There's so much to do, the place is bustling in utter corporate chaos.

He has a notepad sitting on his desk, scribbling everything down quickly when he hears a message left from Gabriel. His heart stops, and he stares at the phone while it plays.

"Aziraphale, I need to speak with you in my office. Come at your earliest convenience." It was from _yesterday_. 

\---

When Aziraphale comes home, his heart is thumping nonstop. His hands are sweating, yet cold and tingly, and he can't stop himself from pacing around the store in an uneasy stride. There's still loads of work to do from home, so much paperwork to fill out, and he can't stop going over what Gabriel had said, looming over him like a statue.

"You really had to take the day off yesterday? It was the busiest day we've had in _months_." he'd spoken, voice cold; disappointed. Aziraphale had quickly tried to add in his excuses- though really, he had none, now that he thought about it. Nothing that really justified it. "You don't look sick, not at all. Why did you take the entire day off then? You've really set us all back."

He couldn't argue. He wasn't a parent, sickly or elderly. He was just...incompetent. Always falling behind, always forgetting things. His hands shook and he dropped paperwork constantly, stuttering during phone calls and zoning out in meetings. He couldn't even make eye contact most of the time. Therapy had been helping...a little. It was a slow process, and he was only beginning to become comfortable enough with Miss Tracy to make any real progress. He was due for another appointment in coming weeks, and was already considering rescheduling; he could use that time to get through back-logged work, after all. 

"No, no. You're supposed to be managing your stress, remember?" he tells himself, just as he's started biting his nails from habit. "There's nothing to be done about it now. You have to calm down, alright? Just...just stop complaining about everything! There's nothing to be so uptight about. You're _alright_."

His whole body feels tense and rigid, and he's already reaching for the phone to book another appointment for a massage before he can stop himself. Well, if it really is going to be fifty percent off, what harm could it do? There's still a very real possibility that the whole thing could be some kind of scam, but he remembers the hands that kneaded into him with such care and brushes away any doubts.

He waits while it rings, creasing his brows together and attempting to unclench his jaw enough to speak.

There's no response, nothing but an answering machine, and he closes out the call before the tone clangs in his ear. Well, it's already getting late, so there's most likely no use in even trying to ring anyone at this hour. That, and he doesn't particularly feel like having a chat with that gruff receptionist again. Not till he's recharged. He feels like he might stutter worse than before.

His mind goes to the number he'd saved from earlier, which is different from the one for the actual spa, for whatever strange reason. There was no way he's going to get an actual response. Then again, there's a chance it's one of the those prank-calling-machines he's heard about from some of his younger co-workers, where automated voices respond with pre-determined lines. Modern technology really is beyond him. Either way, it'd be interesting to find out.

Sitting down on his sofa with a grateful sigh at the comfort, he dials the number and waits...for exactly ten seconds. The response is incredibly quick, and rather than a monotone, robotic voice he's answered with something of a breathless rasp just a moment later. A familiar one.

"Yes, er- This is Serpent Renewal Spa. How may I be of assistance?" There's a slight hiss in his tone, perhaps a lisp. Aziraphale hadn't noticed till now, smiling at the sound, but quickly flusters when he remembers he has to reply.

"Oh...that's odd, I tried calling just a moment ago and nobody picked up."

"Yeah, yeah, that's not the right number. Outdated, y'see. This is the one you should be using." So they'd changed phone numbers within just a few weeks? They really are going through a lot of changes in their company, he thinks.

"Ah, alright then. I was hoping to make an appointment if that's oka-"

"Yes, absolutely." Aziraphale bites his lip, having half-expected to be put on hold or to be told all the available dates are booked. So...he's really going to do this again.

_You can do this, old boy, you can do this. Remember how good it felt last time._

"...Yes, right, well would...Saturday be alright? I don't know if I'll be available on a week day, and...I was hoping for something just a bit longer than last time. The eighty-minute deep tissue massage perhaps?" He looks down at his side table, eyeing the coupon from yesterday. The idea of being in there for so long is a bit daunting, but he might as well make the most of the sale, if it's applicable. "Oh, and I received a discount in the mail recently...I'm wondering if your fifty percent off sale is still valid?"

"Course', course'. Hold on a tick... Okay, you're all signed up."

"...Wait, really? That was quick." he mumbles in bewilderment, blinking at the phone.

"I happen to be pretty good with computers, Mr. F- Sir. All your contact information is saved into our system from your last session, so there's no need for you to provide anything else." Aziraphale can practically hear the pride in his voice, as if he's been preparing to show off such skill for some time now. Maybe the "new computer system" he'd mentioned last time really has improved things. He wonders if the voice got his name from caller I.D, or if this particular receptionist recognized his voice from a previous visit. Either way, he couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, that's just wonderful! Thank you for your help, my dear." he says, slightly closer to the microphone than he meant to.

He hears a cough on the other end


	4. Just Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for a panic attack on this chapter!

The moment Aziraphale wakes up the morning, he knows he's in for a difficult day. Yesterday was...a challenge. The whole week had been, but everything seems to have become much worse after taking a sick day. Gabriel had found many ways to sneak a comment or two about it into their conversations during breaks, which unfortunately he couldn't seem to escape. How much happened on Tuesday, how much work he missed, how much he could've helped...it'd been getting to him. 

The waiting room at the spa doesn't feel nearly as daunting this time, even the flicker of lights a welcome change from the glare of his work computer. He'd hardly gotten any sleep last night, up late worrying about how he'd tie everything together by the end of the month, beat competition like always. He's supposed to be an exemplary employee, and well, he is just average at best. That's all he's ever been.

The receptionist is playing with a mechanical pencil, sticking it against their head while pushing down on the tip, pretending to stab themselves with it. They were staring at a sheet of paper all the while, muttering or chewing gun. He can't tell from here. Aziraphale isn't sure they'd even noticed him come in till he heard them call over after another ten minutes, which was considerably less of a wait than last time at least. "Oh...Azzorafail, your appointment? Same room, same bloke."

"Yes, thank you. Thank you very much." he mutters a bit too softly, swiftly standing up and walking down through the hallway. He keeps his eyes locked to the ground all the while, feeling somewhat...deflated. Then again, he hasn't been eating much. His stomach grumbles a little, not satisfied with the small meal of burnt toast and an egg made in haste, but he puts the thought aside for now.

There's another room besides his own that has a light shining through it, and he peeks in as he walks by to see someone with very prominent shadows under their eyes doing something very horrible to someone's shoulder blades. He hears a loud _crack_ , then an even louder swear, speeding up and disappearing behind the door of his room.

\---

Crowley is standing to the side expectantly, waiting with a towel in one hand and a bottle in the other, setting it down in a neat row by the massage table. He seems much more put together than last time, his outfit completely wrinkle-free, as if he'd just bought it new yesterday. The room feels even more comforting today, an Earthy scent of pine and lavender that ushers him in. There are a few more, large candles peppering the counters, and even new additions to the plant collection.

"Well isn't it Mr. Fell again?" Crowley says with a big grin, inviting him to sit down on the prepared massage table. His smile lessens when he sees the other man's face, making Aziraphale realize he'd been stuck with a sour expression the entire time. 

"Oh, pardon me. I've had a bit of a nasty headache since this morning." he mutters, which wasn't a lie per se. His head had been pounding more and more since Gabriel's voice started to rise yesterday, and he's been popping Aspirin constantly to keep himself sane. "It's pleasant to see you again."

"Likewise." He clams up for a while after that, waiting as Aziraphale wriggles out of his shirt and sets it folded in the same spot as last time, taking a comfortable position on the table. It feels more padded somehow, as if the cushions are brand new, though it's probably just because he'd slept on the sofa again. Anything feels soft to his stiff muscles.

"My, the weather has been parching lately, hasn't it?" he tries to chat, mentally slapping himself for such an awkward conversation starter, hearing the clink of glass as Crowley moves bottles onto the counter next to him. The music is quieter this time, muffled. Makes it easier to hear every shift of the blanket beneath him and the other man's footsteps.

"Definitely. I've been staying inside s'much as I can. Feels like the sun is trying to burn us all to death."

"Ah, that wouldn't surprise me." he chuckles, becoming aware of how constricted his throat feels. His chest is so very tight, and the next moment he breathes in a little too hard. He's been having trouble getting a full intake of air...this isn't true, he knows it, it's just the stress playing tricks on his mind. Still, whether or not he feels comfortable in the room doesn't matter. The weight of his actions are putting their full force on his body, as the next eighty minutes loom over his head like a monster with a ticking clock in its mouth. He'd been so stupid to book this.

He's going to have to sit here and breath normally for _eighty_ _minutes_ \- or try to. He's been trying all morning, but his throat just keeps tightening up. He feels lightheaded, chiding himself for not eating more earlier. That's all it is. Hunger, stress, a bit of tension. 

"What scent this time?" Crowley questions, pointing to the row of oils. 

"Oh, anything that's good for sore muscles I suppose."

"Ah, been working too hard at the gym?"

"You could...say that." He had hardly taken a day off from his jogging routine, now that he thought about it. It'd grown to be a dreaded but necessary daily activity. Crowley picks out a sweet orange scent, testing out a droplet on a tissue for Aziraphale to sniff. "Yes, that'll do nicely."

"Good, good. You want me to avoid your face again?"

"Do what you like." Aziraphale regrets responding at all. He was regretting everything. He just wants to get through this so he can get back home and face whatever work calls are waiting in his messages. Then he can finally sleep. "I'm sure it'd be good for head tension."

"You got that right. I'll have you drooling by the time I'm done with you." the man chuckles, walking back to the counter to retrieve his basin of water along with the other bottles and clothes. "S'been so hectic around here, you know. Ever since we installed that damned system...oh, do you mind cursing?" Aziraphale manages to smile a little despite himself, knowing how much he must seem like an old prude.

"Speak however you wish, my dear." He hears something clang this time, hard, then another quiet swear. The other man comes back over and sits in the same place as their previous visit, knees on either side of his head. "I hear all kinds of colorful words where I work." Of course he just had to say that, didn't he? He had to bring up the one thing he's been trying to forget about. 

"Oh really? What's it like there?"

"...Busy." he mutters, two soft, wet pads just grazing over his face. He tries to change the subject to avoid another silence. "Tell me, what's it like working as a massage therapist?"

_"Busy?"_ he teases, growing more confident with his rubs, drawing the pads around in circles. "S'actually a lot of cleaning for the most part. You'd be amazed how much people sweat on these tables, or leave trails of dirt and dandruff- not to mention the oils and lotions. The sheets get immediately thrown in the laundry and then I wipe the tables down well. _Then_ I put on new sheets again, n'get yelled at for being too slow even if I get all that done within ten minutes. For the rest of the day...try not to get murdered by co-workers, try not to murder my co-workers."

"I see." The soap is rubbed in and wiped away within the next few minutes, strokes soft as last time. Maybe even softer. Even so, Aziraphale is becoming increasingly aware of how hard it is to breathe, like someone's placed a large rock on his chest, like his airway has shrunk till it's the size of a straw.

"What about you?"

"Um...it's intense. I walk in the door, go up the elevator- which is always terribly packed- and go to sit in my cubicle for the next..." he isn't sure what to say. His hours fluctuate throughout the week, and had been steadily growing as the months went by. "Well, for a long while. I answer phone calls, write letters, mail envelopes, t-talk to- to people," he gulps gown a big lump, "-about upcoming projects...you get the idea. Then I pack up my things and go home." Crowley makes a whistling sound.

"Shit, and I thought my job was tedious." Aziraphale can't honestly tell if he was joking or not. He doesn't really do much, nothing of value. Just a bunch of errands that change by the day, watching seemingly every one of his co-workers advance in their careers while he stays stuck in the same role. He just isn't doing enough. His throat constricts tighter, his hands clench into light fists.

"Yes, well, I think this would be a lovely job. It must be nice helping others relax."

"Yeah, it is real nice." he says as he finishes patting his face dry, reaching behind himself to grab the tub of face cream and a fresh spatula to spoon it out with. "Sure, the lights are all ready to pop out and half the time our customers get into fights with my co-workers, who are most definitely not trained in de-escalating conflict...but every once in a while I get someone special, someone with a real knack for conversations. N'honestly, makes the job worth it."

"Oh, so you have regulars then?"

"Not exactly. There used to be a nice old lady who'd come in every few months to deal with the aches age can bring, but that was before the change in management. Just, you know, it's about the- um...are you still good?" He stops as he sits the spatula against Aziraphale's face, seeing how badly he's shaking. His breath is coming out in a wheeze, increasing in strength, and his knuckles are white from clenching them for so long. Crowley grabs a tissue and wipes the dot of cream away, peering down at him confusion. "Hey, hey, want to get up?"

"I'm sorry-I-I'll be fine, this has happened many times." he mumbles, voice sounding high and distant. His whole body is light and tingly, cold and clammy. He tries to speak again, but his breath gets caught in his throat and he only squeaks. Crowley takes his wrist and shoulder, guiding him to sit upright.

He's mortified. He hasn't had one of these attacks for months now, relying on the breathing exercises Miss Tracy had taught him to do whenever things feel overwhelming. He'd only ever had them in the privacy of his home or sometimes in bathrooms for years, masking the sound of labored breathing in the hum of pipes and hand dryers. His heart is palpitating, his chest is so tight he doesn't think he's even getting in any air. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, this never ha-ppens in- public." His vision is tunneling, the details of the room going out of focus in his fear. This is the part he hates the most, the part where reality starts blurring and nothing feels quite real.

"S'okay, you've got nothing to apologize for. You okay with being touched?" He carefully places a hand on his shoulder, watching the man pant for air he isn't sure will come, eyes wide with dread, twitching at the sides. "Panic attack? I dealt with those a while back. Just breathe, okay? 1...2...3...4...5...6...7." He mimics the movements of breath coming into lungs with his hand, swooping it upwards on an inhale, "Hold, 1...2...3...4...then let it out again, 1...2...3...4...5...6...7."

Aziraphale can barely register what he's saying, dizzy and numb in all his limbs. "Wh...uh...1...2, 3..."

"Yes! That's it, just like that." He softly rubs the man's shoulder, keeping him steady as his chest heaves for breath, though he's trying to slow it down. Aziraphale had been scratching at his legs unconsciously, just searching for a surface to cling to, and Crowley reaches for a clean sponge to give him something to squeeze. "In through the nose, out through the mouth." He follows along with his own instructions, seeing a semblance of recognition in the other's eyes. "Perfect. You're doing so good."

He waits while Aziraphale huffs in every breath, trying desperately to follow the other's lead. Memories of the previous week were flooding his mind, Gabriel's disappointment, all the work that needed to be done on schedule, his ignorance for thinking he could simply take a day away from his job and somehow everything would work out. His is stomach tied in a terrible knot and is tingling and numb just like a limb might when one sat on it for too long. The same could be said for every part of his body.

"You're gonna be alright. It'll pass real soon." There's Crowley's voice again, a hand that's continuously giving his fingers little encouraging squeezes. "You're safe, I promise. Nothing's going to happen. Just let it all out."

He remembers the last time he'd had an attack in public, it'd been while talking with Gabriel. The man didn't understand what was happening; he told him to pull himself together. That he was overreacting, and needed to get back to work. That he was just finding an excuse to laze about in the break room, that he had paperwork to manage. Since then, he'd frequently rushed to the bathroom anytime there was even a hint of tingling in his chest, sitting in a stall with his head in his hands, just waiting for the sensations to calm.

Breathing in slower now, counting the seconds of every inhale and exhale, his heart rate starts to ease. He lets his eyes slide back open, having closed them so tight there are tears at the corners, and Crowley is still there coaxing and patting his back. 

"Hey...welcome back, Mr. Fell." he whispers, seeing the sense come back to his face. Aziraphale looks down at his pale, sweaty body and blushes sheepishly, reaching for the shirt that is already being handed to him. 

"I am...I am so, _so_ sorry..."

"For what? You did nothing wrong. Just a little panic attack, nothing more." He steps back to give him a bit of privacy while he dresses, setting bottles back into their original places. "Guessing we're going to cancel for today then?"

"...I believe so. I truly do apologize, I tried my best to stay calm but today my nerves apparently got the best of me."

"S'perfectly fine, we can reschedule if you like. Not extra expense, I'd hardly even started."

"Oh but I can't trouble you like that-"

"No, no. Absolutely no trouble, I am after all the only person with any technical skills around here. It'll be easy to add you in to a different day, just give me a date and time when you feel ready. There's no need to worry about it for now. How you feeling?"

"...Exhausted." he sighs truthfully, body shaky. He can barely keep himself upright, just wanting to sink back down into the cushions, maybe cry for a while to relieve some of the humiliation. Almost as bad as the attack is the after effects. He feels weak, tired, almost drunk. Chemicals trying trying to balance themselves as his parasympathetic nervous system kicks back in. His limbs are like jello, and he's already nervous about having another.

His stomach then growls. _Very_ loudly. Crowley notices, smirking down at him.

"Say, have you gotten yourself some dinner yet?"

"Not exactly. I had...well, breakfast, but that was a long time ago. I suppose I'll pick myself up something on the way home."

"Er, you know...there happens to be a nice little cafe that's just a couple minutes of a drive from here. Stays open pretty late, has some nice options. You were my last appointment of the day, and I was about to go there straight after..."

"You want to eat together?"

"Yeah. There's a seat by a window with lots of leg room, bet we could get there in time to snatch it since it's so early. Just um, you know, if you feel like it. I certainly wouldn't mind the company."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be a good helping of fluff in the next chapter to make up for this angst! Alternatively if you'd prefer _more _angst...well I have something coming for you real soon ✿ Have a great night/day!__


	5. Casual Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No angst, no plot, just chillin in this chapter (o゜▽゜)o☆
> 
> Ok yes the chapter length changed yet AGAIN but I promise I won't add anymore. It'll be 10 chapters OR less. I'm so sorry for saying this'd be like, 4-5 chapters at the beginning, my too much gene took over and I wanted (relatively) slow burn romance so that happened...

Aziraphale sits slightly spaced out in his seat, watching a light drizzle of rain that'd started up on the bus ride there. Daisy Chains cafe is a quaint little place, only a few other souls talking in hushed voices across from them about the most boring subjects he can imagine. The chairs squeak whenever he moves, there are flashy signs on the walls...It all feels a bit like stepping into a retro photograph; he hasn't gone inside anywhere to eat for a long time, now that he thinks about it.

He's midway through a warm cup of decaf coffee, a coating of foam on the surface that sticks to his lips whenever he takes a sip. His plate consists of breakfast food; a buttery, flaky croissant, two fat sausages, a few orange slices and a little bowl of berries next to it. There's a plate of pancakes that they'd agreed on sharing, cut in half down the center, though he hasn't had a bite of it yet. He's still feebly sucking on his spoon and trying to swallow down the remaining tension in his throat. His stomach is tight, his whole body in fact, and it certainly doesn't help that he feels like he'd ruined his entire appointment, which was going to be his one chance to relax the entire week.

Crowley is idly talking about this and that, and unfortunately Aziraphale can't take in any of it. Something about...ducks? In any case he hadn't seemed to notice the other man wasn't paying attention, content to blabber in between gulping down another cup of espresso. He doesn't seem to be one for eating much either, having a bite here and there. It makes Aziraphale especially self-conscious, considering pushing away the remaining pancakes in favor of something healthier...though that maple syrup is looking rather tempting...

"In any case, I wasn't going to let it happen. Nope, not even at the age of seven. You should've seen their faces, all crowding around like I'd lost an eyeball...er...hey, if you'd prefer I can shut up for a while. Let you rest."

"...Oh, what's that?" Aziraphale mumbles, hiding his surprise by taking a long drink of his coffee. He winces, realizing he's let it go lukewarm. "Yes, it's all very exciting. Thank you for sharing."

"Bet you didn't even hear the part about the hotel."

"Well..."

"S'okay, don't worry about it." he chuckles, leaning back in his seat. "You've had a stressful day, I'll leave you to your thoughts, give you some quiet."

"No no, I'm alright. Just a bit tense still." he sighs, scrunching his face together and relaxing it again, trying to get his muscles to stop clenching. "I appreciate your company, I really do. You have no idea how much it's helped me calm down. I...I still apologize."

" _Shut_ _it_. Already told you it's my pleasure. Been ages since I've gone here, I just kept forgetting and putting it aside, and well...here was the perfect chance. Place hasn't aged a day aside from maybe the window curtains. They could've used a better stylist..." he grimaces at clashing neon stripes. "They have the best coffee to be sure. Well, if you're not used to anything better. I'm no connoisseur."

"It's very smooth." he agrees, rolling the beverage around on his tongue. "Just what I needed." He lets his mind come back to the present, watching Crowley sink his fork down into a slightly under-cooked center of pancake, drowning it with far too much syrup. 

"Yeah, I used to come here in the late hours. S'a good thing they're nearly as poorly run as my workplace. No proper hours, people just come and go till they decide they've finally had enough writers complaining about the book they're procrastinating on writing, or the university student who is just beginning to realize their calling is not in mechanical engineering and instead they want to be a prostitute."

"That's... _highly_ specific." 

"I worked here for a while back before I took up massage therapy. I've seen things."

"I can imagine, goodness." He nibbles on a blueberry, feeling the sour juices squish between his teeth and help further draw him back to reality, strangely enough. "Crowley...why is it called 'Serpent Renewal Spa'? Seems like an awfully odd name."

"Oh, well, it was renamed to that after it got taken up by new management a while back. Supposed to related to _the shedding of old skin to reveal a new, fresh life beneath_ or some shite. We even had that as our slogan for a while, had it on all the pamphlets. Sounds like bollocks, I know."

"I think it's rather fitting. I truly did feel like I'd shed an old skin on my last visit- ah, and I don't mean that in a morbid way." Crowley laughs a solid minute at that, clapping his hands and flopping back in his chair, a picture of carelessness Aziraphale wishes he could reflect in himself. 

"You really are something, you know that? You really are something."

They sit in silence while Aziraphale chews absent-mindedly on sausage, not really bothering to swallow when he feels his throat tighten yet again, thinking about what tomorrow will bring when he'll have to go to work again. What if there's another attack...

"If you decide to reschedule, here's my number." he slides a card from his pocket across the table, casually scratching his head. "You know, just in case you lost the other one. Um, I mean it's the number for the company, but I take calls from home. It's my work number, s'what I mean to say. Anyway, if you change your mind I'll give you a full refund...though you'd lose that fifty percent off discount...just something to think about."

"Thank you, I hope I'll be able to come next week." he smiles, picking up the card and placing it in an inner pocket of his coat. He doesn't need it after saving it in his phone, but appreciates the thought. Crowley must've already noticed how clumsy he is. 

"Yeah, and...if, y'know, you have someone special in your life, we do offer couples massages. That isn't listed on the site yet, cause we're still trying to figure out how to save progress on the damn thing, but anyway...we do offer discounts for that as well. Terrific for anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's day, n'all that."

"I don't believe I'll be needing that for myself, but I'll pass the offer on if ever the topic of massages comes up in my conversations with others. I do know someone that got married just last month...though I doubt she'd be willing to sit still long enough for that, not to mention her partner is very allergic to most fragrances in typical oils. Oh, then again, you did say that you carried unscented, didn't you?"

"...What? Oh, oh right, unscented, we do, yes." he finishes the rest of his espresso in a single gulp, looking over at the menu as if he's considering another already. Poor man looks awfully shaky, Aziraphale thinks, shuddering at the thought of so much caffeine running through his system. The last time someone had given him regular coffee by mistake, he hadn't been able to sleep the entire night, jolting awake whenever he nearly dozed off. 

"Is that tattoo based on your company name?" he questions, pointing to the other man's temple. He hopes he's doing this right; it's been so long since he's shared a meal with anyone, or really much in the way of socializing. Casual conversations are hard to wade through for him, never knowing what's appropriate at any given time, always fearful of one of those dreaded, drawn-out silences.

"Huh?"

"It appears to be a sneak. Just, you know, is it a kind of solidarity?" This time Crowley starts _cackling_ , throwing his head back and slapping his thigh. One of the cashiers looks over in concern at the sudden noise, then sighing and turning back to their work. 

_"No!"_ he gasps, wiping an eye, body shaking from coffee and laughter. "Fucking Hell, believe me, I would not go around advertising my workplace on my face."

"Oh, sorry then."

"Don't be." he finally settles down, still snickering as he bites down into a piece of pancake. "I see your point. S'just that I like sneaks is all. They've fascinated me from a young age. I've considered getting one as a pet someday."

"You're certainly braver than myself." he mutters, wiping a drizzle of oil from the sausage off his chin. "They just wrap around everything, slither with their colds scales..." he shivered, imagining the feeling of it on his skin. "Not to mention they're carnivorous. I couldn't imagine feeding such a diet in good morality- though I respect your opinion, of course."

"Eh, the way I see it we all take from this world in some way in order to survive. Someone's always getting fucked over, aren't they?"

"Well that is one way to look at it. I'd prefer to think the world lives in harmony with everything."

"So...then it would be a good thing that a snake eats a mouse, right? Circle of life n'all that."

"Hm..." he thinks for a moment, but decides against it as his head is still too murky to focus that much on anything. "Who can say? In the end, at least humans are capable of self-sacrificing, using their empathy for the benefit of others." He isn't sure how the night had taken such a philosophical turn, but Crowley seems interested nonetheless. 

"Nah, people are always out for themselves. Landlords would gladly drain every last penny out of their tenants if they could, not to mention schools these days hardly teach children anything. S'all about money, and I guess it always has been."

"Still little acts of kindness can go a very long way. Why, even now I feel much better than I did because you decided to be generous enough to share your company with me." he smiles and is finally able to finish one of the sausages, playing with a piece of pancake on his fork. "I think things like this happen more often than you'd think. It goes unnoticed most of the time, but it's a testament to the ultimate goodness within a majority of us. Things aren't perfect with the world to be sure, but well..." the other man is staring at him, halfway through sticking his tongue in his mug to lap up the remainder of liquid at the bottom. "Well, it's what I'd like to believe. I'd like to believe that deep down, we care for each other."

He feels a little on the spot after another moment of silence, picking up a handful of berries and shoving them in his mouth, then taking a large gulp of coffee. It's a terrible mix, but gets his mind off the sudden tension. He swallows with a wince, sweet and bitter hitting his tongue in all the wrong ways. "Sorry, I'm a little soft I suppose."

"No no, I get it. I really do." he quickly adds, waving a hand and leaning back, taking on his casual air once more. "That's a nice way to look at the world. Wish I could see it like that."

\---

They finish soon later, and Aziraphale realizes he'd gone through his whole plate for the first time in months, having picked through a majority of his meals till now. He feels pleasantly full, the terrible, aching emptiness replaced by warmth and a comfortable buzz of energy as his body finally has some vitamins to work with. 

They opted to return to the spa on foot, seeing as it was within walking distance- well, a _long_ walking distance, but somehow the idea of spending that much time sharing each other's company doesn't sound all that bad.

Aziraphale is very much an introvert, and enjoys keeping to himself while in public, but it's easy to find things to talk about tonight, especially when Crowley is content to lead a majority of the conversations.

The other man hadn't pried about his personal life, not asking anything more about his job or anything else that'd been stressing him to no end, and instead he ended up getting caught up with strange topics. Ideas that sounded too uninteresting to chat with co-workers about when he wanted to avoid an awkward silence; it wasn't as if they'd want to hear his opinions, he'd thought for a long while.

He assumed Crowley was only being polite, that he'd rather be home right now tending to that collection of plants he'd gushed about, or watching endless...what was it again? Golden...something. Either way, he knows better than to believe the evening has been anything more than an act of kindness, to help him calm down from his attack, and he's grateful in either case.

After a while, though, they settle into a surprisingly comfortable silence, passing by houses, cars and streetlights without interruption. It's getting pretty late, the sun having set a while back, and Aziraphale finds himself growing increasingly tired. It isn't exhaustion per se, though he knows he must finally be beginning to feel the effects of his horrible attempt at sleeping last night, but he actually feels excited to fall into bed and snuggle around warm covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching back to mostly Crowley pov in the next chapter, so get ready for some mega thirst 😈


	6. Business As Usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! I was gonna do two chapters this time to make up for how long it's been since the last update but the next one's pretty damn long compared to the rest so it should be posted either tomorrow or Sunday. Stay tuned! ╰(*°▽°*)╯

"So I noticed you slipped out a little early, fuckface." Beelzebub sneers as Crowley walks in to pick up his things before heading home. "You forgot to clean before you left. I told everyone you'd be more than willing to finish up the laundry for every room, wipe down every single- hey, what happened to you?"

Crowley notices a stupid smile is plastered on his face, and quickly does a few exercises with the muscles to get them out of their glued expression. "Oh, just had a nice walk. Really pumps up the circulation, y'know. I haven't had a real _stroll_ in months, y'know?"

"Stop lying. Tell me." they continue to nag, following him as he walks back through the dim hall to his room. "Come on, z'been so boring around here. Did you get a tip? I hope you lied about the tipping rate, that old man from earlier really looks gullible."

"He's _not_ an old man _,_ you wanker _._ He's about my age, in fact." he snaps as he throws the door open and begins tugging the sheets off the massage table. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, going home? S'way past your ending shift."

"I just had to find out why you left so soon, and trust me I'm in no hurry to face my flat mate. You were due for an _eighty minute_ appointment. We don't even offer anything that long. Firstly I wanted to know if you charged the bloke a whole shit ton more- in that case, good on you, I'm impressed- and secondly, did he have a heart attack or something?? I've got to know."

"Why're you so interested in my business?" he ends on a hiss, shoving past the other with his armful of laundry, forgoing the convenience of a basket to hold it all. He's feeling strangely energetic. "No, I didn't charge him more. He had the discount, remember? Which he didn't get to use today because, er, he had a slight medical emergency. Personal stuff."

"Medical _what_?! I was joking about the heart attack...can't even begin to imagine the legal battle we'd be in...Crowley I swear if you did something-"

"It wasn't my fault, alright? Something minor just came up. He's perfectly fine, probably going to come back in a week or two." He starts going through every room to repeat the process, grimacing at the messes of oil and hair left behind. Ligur had never been very concerned with gentleness, but well, some people did like that about him. He could work out a knot in your shoulder and break it in the process, really a win-win if he thought about it.

"Well that's better than hospitalized I guess, that would _not_ be good for our image. Why did you leave with him, then? Why not call a doctor or something?"

"Oh, you're just all questions today, aren't you?" he grumbles, stepping into a small laundry room and throwing the heap into a clunky washer that squeaks horribly when he closes it. "Where'd you put the soap..."

"I'm just saying, it's a little odd to just disappear for hours after someone under your care has an apparent medical emergency. I have the right to know, as a receptionist, manager, fuck, the mind behind the entire fucki-" Crowley holds out his hand to shush them, reaching overhead to pull down a box of detergent. "Not to mention you've been making all these random purchases. What, was your initial setup not enough? Trying to outdo the rest of us?"

"I'm _trying_ to finish cleaning up for the night, bastard. Isn't that one of my duties? Something I'm _payed_ to do?" he growls, slamming the door closed and pushing a button, the machine whirring to life with a terrible _thud-thud-thud_ , rocking back and forth to the beat of an off-tune song playing in a distant speaker. "I just wanted to walk with him a bit and make sure he was alright."

"For roughly four hou-"

"So I got hungry. Had a bite to eat. That's no crime."

"...I guess not, but that doesn't explain the look on your face. You're smiling again. It's creeping me out...much too _happy_. Doesn't suit you, I liked you better with that shriveled scowl you wear so often. Much better fitting for our shitehole of a spa, don't you think?" He couldn't really argue with that, and wasn't about to.

"I had a real nice meal. I guess all I needed was a lot of artificial maple syrup and bacon fat clogging my arteries to remind me what joy feels like." he pats his stomach for emphasis, turning on his heel and heading back to his room to gather his belongings. "And for your information, Aziraphale is not _gullible_. He's kind."

\---

"Aziraphale?" Miss Tracy coaxes, making the man jump on his comfortable place on the sofa. He's finally booked an appointment with his therapist after a few more panic attacks render him a complete mess of frayed nerves just holding themselves together in the base of his stomach. It hasn't been this bad in a long time, and he feels as though he's making less and less progress as the days go by, facing never-ending calls and stacks of paperwork each work day.

Tracy's office isn't like the ones you'd normally expect in a therapist office; there are bright colors painted on the walls, vibrant blue and pink that clashes horribly with everything else. There's a fuzzy green carpet that makes a sinking sensation when Aziraphale steps into it, weird little keepsakes lining the shelves. There are many picture frames showcasing distant relatives of hers, and many times she forgets what she's talking about and rambles on about the stories behind them. The last ten minutes have been the fishing trip she had last Summer with her nephew, and now she's apparently realized he's been spaced out the entire time.

There's an odd comfort in the eccentric nature of the woman and her office, the air of casualty taking away some of the fear of being seen as a sort of test subject. It's something Aziraphale thinks about, and how he felt the first time he tried going to appointments with another long before. That didn't end well, realizing all the person wanted to do was tell him to take more pills, ones that gave increasingly bad side-effects till he quit even trying to maintain control. 

He'd found Tracy partially by accident; she was another person he'd met while at church, though her story was much different than his introduction to Gabriel. She wasn't religious herself, only visiting one Christmas to spend time with her sister, who was a devout Christian. She herself was spiritual, and believed in souls and ghosts, though not much in the way of a god. He didn't mind. His own path had been incredibly rocky, and at this point he didn't know where he stood. If he ever met old friends from church these days, he'd just tell them the same thing; that it was complicated. That could be said about most aspects of his life nowadays. 

"How're you doing, love?" she questions, sipping a cup of tea by her side. He can smell the heavy caramel from here. "You've been awfully quiet this whole time. You know I'm not nit-picky with schedules, you take as long as you need, but we need to start somewhere."

"I know, and thank you. I'm...I've been dealing with a lot at once for...well, for many years now that I think about it. It's just these past months have brought up a lot. Work's been getting more hectic, exercising has been nearly impossible to keep up with and I find myself trying to catch my breath whenever I feel a hint of that awful suffocation I've told you about. I've tried using your techniques, and I've tried keep a consistent sleep schedule, but the more I try the more I lose progress."

"Now, now." she tuts, swirling her finger in her cup in a way that didn't seem quite professional. Nothing about her is, really, her clothes tacky shades of neon, her feet in bejeweled sandals, her messy hair just barely contained in a bun. "Just because you have a flare-up on occasion, that doesn't mean you aren't making progress. That job of yours really seems to be putting you over the edge, dearie."

"Oh, ah, well...yes. I hate to admit it but I know at this point I'm going to have to leave it at some point, but...I just don't know how. Gabriel gave me another chance, you know, put me back on my feet. I owe him this much, don't I?"

" _Owe_ him? How much do you think he notices your work?" She takes a very loud slurp, wincing at over-steeped black tea. "You've said yourself you feel invisible when you step foot inside that corporate nightmare of a...oh, pardon me for saying. I've never been all that fond of big offices myself. They wouldn't let me bring my babies." She smiles over at her collection of plants sitting around the room; she's the type to talk very normally to them even during a session with one of her patients. "Tell me, Aziraphale, do you feel appreciated?" 

"Of course-well, um..." he thinks the question over for a moment. Every now and again Gabriel does tell him he's done a good job, like last year after coming to work throughout a fever, or the days he'd stay well into the night to finish projects, coming home exhausted and utterly brain dead. Lately though... "Not exactly. I've spent so many years there and yet I still feel like I haven't learned enough. That I don't do enough to please anyone. I try doing things differently, I try coming to work earlier and staying later, but then Gabriel sometimes calls me and..." he sighs deeply, remembering with a shiver the other day he got caught on his fourth trip to the bathroom, trying to hide till another attack passed. ARC kept track of how much time associates spent on break, and apparently he'd exceeded his limit for the day.

"I've told you time and time again that this mindset isn't healthy. The idea that you need to reach some unattainable goal has got to be depleting... What do you do when you get home?"

"Ah...sometimes I read a little, have a bite to eat. Then I sleep."

"Don't you visit shops, go to parks, see shows? How about visit museums, take walks in gardens...you know, when was the last time you let yourself live?" Aziraphale winces, squishing his hands together. 

"I know. I know this isn't good for me, and I know I'll have to leave someday but right now it just doesn't seem doable."

"I understand. It's normal to feel stuck in some jobs." It was a little hard to take her seriously as she adjusted a fake eyelash, right before it could fall and plop in her tea, but Aziraphale felt comforted by her words nonetheless. "Besides, you've still got your life ahead of you-and don't you tell me there isn't much left again, because you're only in your forties and I'm well into my sixties." 

"Yes ma'am." he chuckles, shaking his head. Tracy's always reminded him of his mother, the good things he remembered of her anyway. "I just wish I could work up the courage to really change something. The most I've done recently is start getting massages!"

"Oh? That's something." she makes a show of hunching herself over, patting her shoulders. "My poor back could definitely use it. I haven't been keeping very good posture, and walking up flights of stairs to my flat is killing my hips." They share a moment of amusement, which quickly fades away as Aziraphale remembers the last visit.

"I had another attack the last time I tried to lay there on the table, and I thought it was the most humiliated I've ever been." he says, eyes falling bleakly to the floor. Tracy nods knowingly, finally setting her cup down and leaning onto her elbow to observe him. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to look the man in the face, knowing how much I must've put him off after that. Everything went well the first time I went there, I thought I'd made a good impression. Now I'm scared to even step foot in the building again."

"There isn't any rhyme or reason to your anxieties, dearie. An attack might happen anywhere, and it really is best to keep going about your life so you don't teach your mind to fear certain places. You _are_ making progress, it just takes time."

"I know, and you've said that so many times but I feel like I'm just going backwards. I want to improve, but it's rare I even get more than five hours of sleep in a night these days, rare I can get down a full meal, and I spend the rest of my time worrying about the past. I've been going over my failures of even just this past week over and over, re-examining the same interactions and-" His pulse quickens, and he swallows down a terrible choking sensation. "I watch all my co-workers operate so proficiently. They have lives, they manage themselves well enough and I can't help but feel I'm going to face the same challenges to matter what I do ten years from now."

"One thing at a time, love. The only thing you need to concern yourself with is how you're going to handle tomorrow."

This is the part Aziraphale hates, the part where he realizes he's spent too much time rambling and notices how much time has gone by, that he hasn't really had time to piece anything together. There's more he wants to say, most of which cages itself in his brain till he decides Tracy would rather get on with her day than listen. It's only by her peculiarities that he's even gotten this far with a therapist, treated more like a grandson than a patient, and yet he still knows there is always going to be a mental block between himself and others. 

He knows it's the right thing to say, so he does. "Yes, tomorrow. Just focus on tomorrow." 

\---

Crowley taps his foot loudly on the floor, looking at his watch every few minutes. Aziraphale had done it, he'd really done it. Re-scheduled himself for exactly a week past their first attempt at an appointment, and he was anticipating the visit like waiting for a gift to arrive in the mail.

He's trying to handle this like a normal person, still not knowing quite why he's so excited over this one client in particular, but his nerves are like frayed wires and all he can think about is having his hands on him again. He was going to get a full _eighty_ _minutes_ of his company, which would sound kind of ridiculous with anyone else, seeing as he was to skip over the man's legs and face anyway, so that left a lot of time just going over his arms and back over and over again. And again, and again, and he'd have so much time to memorize every muscle and curve and tender area... 

Ah, he was looking forward to having so much time to feel his muscles slowly ease. As any person in his position might. Listen to him sigh out breaths of relaxation as pent-up tension finally faded through Crowley's touch, maybe vent out his cares of the day, reveal more about himself. The things that worried him, the things that made him happy. The man's smiles were so scarce, hardly anything more than polite grins, obviously rehearsed. He wanted to see what his face really looked like when the only things on his mind were the things he loved to think about. He'd seen glimpses the night they'd shared a dinner, though his face had also been blanketed by a thick layer of residual stress... 

He'd prefer if this massage lasted all day honestly, even though either way he was going to be completely spent by the time it was all over. Massaging really did take a lot of energy and strength, and he'd noticed himself lifting things around his flat, like books, water bottles and even his plants, anything that weighed more than he was used to toting around. He hoped to build at least a bit of muscle in his twig-like arms, have enough stamina to last through such lengthy appointments. 

He wanted to hear him talk softly, get lost in senseless topics nobody else ever seemed interested in. This bookworm, this slightly eccentric man who knew so much about literature he'd never even heard of. They'd been able to bond over a few novels, things he'd read back in his high school years but grew bored of now that everybody seemed so absorbed in the modern stuff. No, Aziraphale loved _classics_. Couldn't get enough of them. He sounded like he lived in a library, gushing about Shakespeare like he knew him personally, like they were best friends. While he himself wasn't quite as enthralled with the subject, preferring action and thrillers above the likes of Hemingway, it made his stomach curl with warmth hearing such enthusiasm. 

Aziraphale loved cocoa and tea and dusty tartan trinkets, loved fine arts and theater. Crowley felt overwhelmed just being in the presence of him, someone so steeped in such a passion for the world around him and the creations of others and yet still managed to be so modest. 

His phone buzzes with a notification that the man has arrived, and he scrambles to check everything over once more. He'd bought another set of sheets just for Aziraphale a few days after their first visit, the idea of using one of his regular rotations that other people had sweated on just didn't sit right with him.

There was still one thing to be done; he needed to run get another bottle of cream from the storage closet. He eyes the empty one as he walks out, trying to remember which cabinet they're kept in. He may or may not have glanced down at the waiting room as he trotted through the lobby, whistling casually. Aziraphale doesn't seem to notice him, absorbed in a conversation with a younger woman.

She's louder than the soft spoken man, snickering about something that must be very amusing, because Aziraphale is smiling and the corners of his face are scrunched up in that way he had the last time they'd talked.

Crowley tries to ignore them and pokes through the room, searching for a light switch. He may or may not have paused for a moment to listen in on their conversation, just to see what kind of things he likes to small-talk about. Not in a weird way, he tells himself, arm midway through picking up the- oh, the wrong bottle. Shit, where is it...?

"Yes, of course." she says outside, with a voice that sounds cheery and confident. "I read it just last month. I haven't been able to wrap my head around the ending yet...what about you?"

"Well I thought it was a little underwhelming personally. I can't imagine how you could conceive such a cliff-hanger to be satisfying, especially when you devote so much time to one story. I just...feel a bit betrayed. Perhaps I've yet to understand her writing style..." Oh, so they're talking about books. Big surprise there.

His phone buzzes and he sees a text from Beelzebub, a wall of text essentially translating to: "You've been in the closet for seven minutes, Crowley. Why are you taking so long? Did you break something again? Cause it's going on your paycheck, you piece of-" he looks up from his phone, groaning, grabbing the bottle and speed-walking back outside.

The two people are still chatting when he passes, and he races back to his room almost embarrassingly fast, for whatever reason. He hears Aziraphale's voice, and the sound of it lingers in his mind as he thrusts open the door to his room and sends back a reply to his boss, telling them he's ready.

He's not ready in any way that matters, but at least his hands are attached to his wrists. That's something, anyway.


	7. No Stupid Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references to past homophobia/discrimination! It's very brief and vague but I thought I should mention it just to be safe.

Aziraphale seems a little more relaxed today as he takes a seat on the massage table, Crowley thinks, fumbling to get everything in order on the counter. There always seems to be something out of place, and he can't tell if it's his nerves making him stupid or the spa's shitty methods of organization. No two products are where they should be at any given time, scattered throughout the small room every time he comes in, seeing as Ligur uses his room on different shifts. The bloke's never been one for tidiness, and now he has to take the fall for it. He's had so much time to prepare and he's still barely ready, noticing he's put the wrong soap on the counter. It's not for hands; it's the fucking _laundry detergent._

"Well, you look nice today." Crowley says without thinking. Is that a weird thing to say to a client? He doesn't normally say much, if anything to the customers, so he's still trying to figure this out. It seems like an alright thing to say...just a harmless compliment. He's decides to add, "Are those shoes new?" just to be safe. Make it apparent that he's looking at the man's feet rather than his face or- wait, that's even worse. Shit, he's bad at this.

"Oh, thank you!" he smiles, a wonderfully beautiful thing that is. "They aren't, but I haven't worn them in a while." Crowley hadn't actually noticed his shoes till now, looking down and seeing a color that is similar to Aziraphale's usual outfit. Light, warm brown. Nice and casual, if a bit boxy. Much better than whatever the fuck he himself is wearing, he decides as he peers down with a scowl at the tight shoes that cut off his circulation...oh, but it was just "company policy" they'd said. It went with his uniform, and they were in no hurry to find him a size that fit. He was still convinced the whole thing had been an April Fool's joke, just a couple of months out of season.

"How's your week been- er, if you don't mind me asking?" Informal conversation, but not overly nosy. He needs to learn the difference, seeing as Aziraphale obviously has a lot going on he doesn't want to think about, especially during these sessions. "Like, do anything fun over the weekend?"

"Well, I managed to read a book I've been putting off for months now. _Over the Marked Doors_ , by Juliet Knight. She's blooming in popularity, and I greatly enjoyed it...though I will say it's not for the standard audience."

"Why's that?" 

"Ah, the 'marked doors' are actually in reference to the Passover. Not everyone is interested in stories relating to religion, and well, the main character does die in the end-oh, sorry for spoiling that. In fact, her whole family does, because of...well, you probably know the story, or have an idea of it anyway. It doesn't end happily at all; there are strong themes of greed and poor leadership, how it can devastate the innocent who happen to be caught in the crossfire."

"I see. You...religious, then?" Well, he's already picked a stupid question and Aziraphale hasn't even finished taking off his shirt yet. "I mean, if you're alright with saying-er, I'm fine with it, of course. Just wondering." 

"Oh...it's a bit hard to say. It's complicated." Shit. He's fucked things up big time. "I wouldn't say I'm strictly Christian, but I spent a majority of my life with those beliefs." Good, a nice, neutral reaction. Doesn't seem like he's going to ask Crowley the same thing anyway...

He doesn't have anything against religion as a whole, but his experiences in the past were less than savory. He prefers to keep his conversations light-hearted, not get anybody heated. His family was more than happy to hammer in the jolly little fact that he was broken in every way because God apparently had made a mistake with him somewhere along the way, and he'd stayed away from church since then, even if it meant leaving a majority of the people he knew behind. Great, now he's made himself depressed.

He tries to push the thoughts out of his mind, but now that he knows there's a possibility Aziraphale might... _share_ those beliefs, he feels a sting deep in his chest. It isn't his business, it really isn't. 

It doesn't help when he looks over and sees the man turning over onto the table, laying down so leisurely in a place he's made especially soft and comfortable just for him. All his preparations seem awfully stupid now- not that they weren't stupid to begin with. It's not like he ever had any kind of chance with him to begin with, but the comment was just a nail on the coffin.

"Scented or unscented?" he says with a slight hiss, a lisp he slips out whenever his nerves get the best of his senses. The other man doesn't tease him about it, thankfully. 

"Hm...can I smell each of them this time? If that's alright." Aziraphale seems to be in much less of a hurry this time. He guesses it makes sense, seeing as he has a full eighty minutes to be with him...well, technically seventy-five now, but it isn't as if Crowley is going to be strict with the time. This appointment is going to last as long as Aziraphale damn well pleases.

Crowley quickly grabs all the bottles of oil and lines them up on his cart, rolling it over in front of the other man. He averts his eyes as he gets a very vivid glimpse of Aziraphale's chest, almost unnaturally soft looking, a line of small downy curls of hair running up his front. After being able to sink his fingers into those plush shoulder blades, he wonders just how much more tender the skin is there. 

"Take your time." he grits out, walking over to stand by the wall and scroll through his phone. It's full of angry texts from Beelzebub, about the plumbing issue he's somehow supposed to solve even with absolutely no experience, about the new issue that's come up with the computer system- also not in his job description- and about how he should try to squeeze more money out of that "old man", about twelve tips on coercing more generous tipping. He glares at the phone and deletes every text with a sweep of the finger, glancing over to watch the man bow his head over the lids of bottles.

Oh, he can see so well from here. His round belly curves into cute rolls when he bends, hair soft and curly, so light it barely moves with the gravity. He scrunches up his face when he smells the eucalyptus, but seems to like the mint...oh, he wonders how he'd like the raspberry chocolate. That's exclusively for Valentine's day, and costs extra, but Crowley might just be willing to throw it in for free on their next appointment if he likes the scent.

He wonders how Aziraphale would smell with the scent of chocolate rolling off his body, his own heat making it waft in all directions. How much more concentrated it would be if he'd just come from the sauna...oh, he still has to fix the issue with the damned pipes. Next time, though, he promises himself it will be available. Only for Aziraphale, nobody else, if he wants to try it. He just...maybe wouldn't mention it'd been fixed. Quietly sneak the man in, let him rest there for a while...yes his boss _is_ going out of town in a few weeks. There's a chance...

"This one." he chimes in, letting Crowley know with a big grin that he's found the oil he likes. Oh, he just had to pick caramel almond, didn't he? The one smell that's so strong it'll wash away Aziraphale's own scent... "I know this is an odd time to say it, but I just wanted to thank you again for last week." His face falters, like he's wondering if he should've brought it up. Crowley quickly nods and smiles back, waving his hand dismissively. 

"Don't mention it. It was my treat, and because of you I think I'll start going there more often. They are, after all, going to have a buy one get one free special on the coffee next week."

"Oh?" Aziraphale says a little quietly, turning back around and snuggling into the sheets. He looks like a dove burrowing into a nest, Crowley thinks, face growing hot. Fat spreads out beneath him, every inch of him a mouth-watering sight ready to be kneaded into. He wondered how tight his muscles would be today.

That back is about to be covered by his own hands again, allowed to take their time and explore, and he's been telling himself to let the idea go all morning. This is just business. "Yeah...On Wednesday. I'll be going there around five I think." he adds, casually as he can, gulping down a tight lump when the ange- _Aziraphale_ , shifts and threads his arms under the pillow. He looks so much more comfortable than their first visit, and he wonders if he likes the new sheets. Lord knows he'd spent nearly an hour picking them out. They contrast so well with his skin, like a light in a pool of darkness. "You like any other places to eat around here? I could use some recommendations."

"Hm...Have you ever been to a place called the 'Ritz'?" He has, but he shakes his head anyway.

"Nope." he draws out the "p" sound, mostly because his mouth wants to gape when he stares down at the sight below him. "What's it like? Tell me about it. I'm all ears." Ne's really more all eyes, watching Aziraphale wiggle his hips slightly beneath the blanket, and from this angle he can't tell if he's wearing trousers or not...he is, but Crowley can imagine what he likes, and that scares him. 

"It's just lovely. There's a long row of beautiful chandeliers up above, pristine curtains that line the area around the tables. There have all sorts of vintage wines, and teas, and the most exquisite cuisines- not to mention desserts. I've only been there once, invited for a business luncheon by my...boss." he quieted a little after that, his smile fading. "B-but I remember it like it was yesterday. I'd very much like to go there again sometime, if there's ever an occasion."

"Hm? Just what kind of occasion then?"

"...Well, I haven't really thought about it. I'd feel gluttonous going there alone, spending so much money just for a meal to please myself. There are far more important things in which I could be investing."

"Like these appointments?" he teases, catching a little gasp of shock from the man beneath him when he suddenly lets the first drop of oil fall down on his bare shoulder. He's not sure if he should even try doing anything around the man's face, seeing as the first time he didn't want to be touched there and last time it triggered it attack, so it'd be best to avoid the subject altogether today.

"I mean, yes, I suppose. It's a form of stress management, you see, which is good for my overall health. Health is more important than a single night of luxury." Oh, he'd love nothing more than showering Aziraphale in luxury. Oh _god_ , now he was imagining those soft lips opening up to fit a bite of something sweet. If he moaned so much from getting a massage, Crowley wondered what kind of sounds he'd make if he ate something he found delicious. He seemed like the kind of man to express his every thought through various cooing sounds from deep in his throat.

"Yeah, health. Very good." Very **_not_ **good. Nothing is good about this feeling as he carefully places a palm down on Aziraphale's back and feels the slight arch, the shift to lean into Crowley's touch. This time there is no jump or jerk. His hand is being welcomed. 

There's a heat growing in his belly, and he lets out a long sigh to release at least a bit of tension. "I should do more to take care of my own, I guess. You're absolutely _glowing_ , y'know."

"Really? That's surprising to hear...then again I haven't looked in a mirror for a while. Suppose I'm afraid I'll see more grey hairs." he chuckles, and Crowley doesn't understand why that would take away from his charm whatsoever. What wrinkles he already has lining his face are fit to be traced with steady fingers, memorizing the patterns of his smile. 

"Yeah. Wish I knew your secret. Maybe you can give me some tips?"

"Oh goodness, you flatter me." he giggles, wiggling his shoulders again; the movement is easy to feel through his soft skin, and Crowley winces as he realizes he's frozen in place, picking up his gentle rubbing again, just getting the area warmed up. "It seems like with every day there's something else setting me back, but I'm glad to know someone else thinks there's a little improvement." Really though, Aziraphale looks like he's glowing under the soft lights. Maybe it's because of all the candles he's peppered around on the shelves, maybe it's the fact that he's turned the lights down so that he has just enough to see with. It contours the man nicely, makes the oil catch every gleam when he sweeps a hand down across an expanse of skin.

Crowley pools some more of the substance into his palm and carefully grazes it back down into the man's shoulders, mind blankly searching for something intelligent to say, something that won't come off as too awkward.

"What's it like owning a bookstore?" Mr. Fell had brought that up while they were talking over dinner, and he hadn't thought too much of it at the time. The fact that he could balance owning something like that and still work an office job was pretty amazing in itself, but he'd been more interested in covering every topic he could while the hours passed. He wanted to get to know the man as much as possible over the course of that meal, seeing as there had been a chance he would never see him again. 

Wait, was that a stupid question? _What's it like owning a bookstore?!_ Well, Mr. Crowley, I own books and sell them to people. Can we change the topic to something less stupid? Or is your head as filled with air and confetti as it seems? 

He accidentally squeezes a little too hard into the tender area right in the crease of Aziraphale's neck, and starts to apologize before he lets out a sweet little groan. 

"Oh, right _there!"_ he sighs, eyes batting shut for a moment when Crowley's hand instinctively starts up a tighter rub, his other hand coming to cup the other side of the man's neck and holding it steady. There's a particular thread of tension he can feel loosening under his grip, and he knows he's found the right spot when Aziraphale melts even deeper into his pillow.

"Ah, um, where was I? ...It's very boring if I'm honest with you. As I'd told you it was handed down through the generations and up until now my relatives actually sold the contents therein, but it's a different story with me. I try so hard to be reasonable, but it's so dreadfully difficult to part with my collections...I've added many hundreds of antique novels since I moved into it, and they've become precious to me. I've read nearly every book in it so far, save for a few I picked up this past year and haven't gotten around to."

Crowley's mind is still reeling from hearing Aziraphale speak in such a breathy voice, and shakes his head while working on the other side of his neck, focusing in on a droplet of water sitting atop the a leaf of a peace lily sitting behind the table, hoping it'd have a similar effect to counting sheep. "...Ah, would it be too much if I asked you to also work on my legs today?" When Crowley's hands froze, he swiftly added, "Oh-nevermind, I suppose it is very unthoughtful for me to ask when you've already started. Forget I said that."

"Nonono-" he says in a slur of head shakes, tensing all his muscles to keep them from shaking. There was no telling when his body had gotten this weak, twitching at the slightest draft of cool air coming from the vent up above. He clears his throat and straightens his scrub suit, getting oil on it in the process; he reaches for a cloth a moment later both to wipe the streaks off and hide his face from view. "S'all fine. You can ask for anything during these sessions, remember. You're the boss."

On one hand the thought of actually having Aziraphale as his boss is kind of Heavenly, daydreaming about it while he walked out into the hall. He'd never bothered with giving a client that much privacy before unless they asked, but somehow the air of the room was taking on a much more explicit feeling to it the longer he stood there and he wanted to preserve his remaining sanity.

While the sound of having a man like that tell him what to do while slouching back equally luxuriously in the main office every day did have an oddly good ring to it, that also meant he wouldn't be able to get the chance to touch him like this, watch his tension fall away... on the other hand he'd be able to converse with him freely without worrying about professional boundaries, which, as he was learning quite quickly, he had never given much thought to. People tended to vent about their problems or keep quiet while he worked at their tight muscles, and he just listened and nodded politely. Interacting with Aziraphale was like taking a quiz he had never studied for.

He was thinking about this too hard again.

"Ready!" comes Aziraphale's voice again, this time with a definite wavering undertone. He can practically see him wobbling to sit back down even before he walks back in, keeping his eyes glued on the floor. "It was rather silly of me to expect you to massage my back for the full session. Um...be aware that I might be a bit twitchy, as I'm unused to such contact."

He really has an interesting way of explaining that nobody else has touched his legs for a while- though Crowley did finds that hard to believe. He hasn't gotten a completely clear response as to the man's relationship status, but he can only assume he's currently single. Again, he finds that extremely hard to believe. The fact that someone so warm, intelligent and _soft_ could live well into his forties without being snatched up by anyone with a single ounce of taste is frankly ridiculous. 

"Okay, right, just tell me if there's anywhere you want me to avoid. Any...injuries, particular areas of discomfort." he tries to say, but the last part of the sentence ends up sounding more like a tsunami washed through his mind and emptied out the bare minimum of what could be recognized as words. He's made the mistake of peeking.

The mood of the room has taken an inexplicably indecent turn, which doesn't make any sense seeing as Aziraphale is still wearing boxers and a towel's covering a good portion of his lower body. Only his knees are currently available, and just that much is like a neon light in pitch black to Crowley's eyes, the rest of the room just fading out of existence.

He feels like more of a degenerate every second he lets himself look, and pads back over to retrieve the oil again. Is it inappropriate to touch someone's calves if it's your fucking _job_ to? He'd done this hundreds of times before with others, and all those times the only thoughts that were in his mind related to how soon his next break would be so he could get a cup of coffee. It seems his brain had decided to betray him now.

It was easy to imagine how they'd feel under his hands even before he'd pressed a pad of a finger down against an ankle, sort of a small introductory touch before following with the rest of his hand. Aziraphale does indeed twitch beneath him; rather, an all-expansive jolt that starts at his feet and travels up his body. Crowley had had sensitive customers before, some whom of which would shriek if the oil wasn't warmed up ahead of time or would nearly kick him in the shin because he'd prodded the skin without warning. It'd never been satisfying to watch, feeling the chill grow under his hand and eventually relax into an occasional shiver or twitch.

"Goodness, that feels odd." the man says with another shudder, borrowing his face back into the pillow. "I'd at least grown accustomed to the sensations of having my arms and back touched, but this..."

"Anything uncomfortable? If you want I can work on your upper body first."

"No, I'm quite alright, just a little surprised I suppose. Do whatever you wish." Oh, that is a generous offer, one that he brushes far away from his thoughts before he can properly ponder it. 

He'd been trying to avoid looking at the man's legs till now, seeing it as somehow sacrilegious, but well, it would more or less be impossible to do anything correctly unless he knows what muscles he's pressing into. 

Alright, focus. Do everything in steps. Remember the routine.

The first thing to do is to spread the oil all along the man's calves and- er, he'd just focus on that area right now. He isn't sure what Aziraphale is really offering given that his thighs are almost completely covered and he hasn't made any movements to shift the towel upwards.

He grabs two more towels from the cabinet and rests them under Aziraphale's legs, giving him a better angle to work with. He then pools a good portion of oil into his palm and rubs his hands together per usual, bringing them both down and sweeping from Aziraphale's ankles to behind his knees. Warming the oil up first is always a good idea, getting the muscles a bit loosened to allow for a deeper massage. 

Starting a slight palpation as he goes, he rubs in circles and drizzles a little more oil along the way. Normally he starts at the hamstrings, but he's just beginning to catch his breath now that he'd finally gotten a taste of that soft warmth he's going to be allowed to touch for the next hour. After just grazing his fingers over the skin here, he can only imagine how good it's going to feel to really sink in and loosen him up. 

God that sounded wrong even in his head.

"All good?"

"Yes, perfectly tickety-boo." Ah, there's that expression again. He still can't tell exactly what feeling it was means to convey, but hopes it's positive. Taking it as a go-ahead, Crowley starts increasing the pressure, cupping one calve with both hands and rubbing back and forth horizontally. This is a particularly good motion to bring in some extra blood flow, making everything easier to work with, and bloody Hell the muscles here are responsive. So is Aziraphale.

The man makes a small noise in the back of his throat and rolls his head deeper into the pillow, splaying out his toes on that leg like he's relaxing it out. A good sign, Crowley hopes. It can be hard to tell how someone is doing during a massage, seeing as some of the motions can easily dig in too deeply if there's an old injury somewhere beneath the skin. The only way to really know is to watch body language and keep communication going- if the client isn't fast asleep or a total arsehole. 

Travelling lower again, Crowley rolls his palm down the arch of the man's foot and begins working his thumbs into it. Ah, poor bloke looked like he's been walking around too often in very ill-fitting shoes. He finds callouses and nicks here and there, a particularly sore-looking patch around his big toe. He definitely is stiff here, the muscles incredibly tight even for a tough area like that.

He reaches over to the caddy and comes back with a bit of cream to increase the moisture to the heel, wanting to avoid any chances of cracking the dry skin; then, he starts really putting strength into his rubs. There's a definite reaction, Aziraphale making a tiny gasp that's muffled in the pillow, then the slightest jerk into Crowley's hand.

"Any of that feel too hard?"

"N-no, you're doing just fine." He can barely make out the response, too deep in his little hideaway, but it's good enough for him. With renewed confidence, Crowley begins _pressing_ , coming back to the calve and getting his thumbs deep into the tight muscle. It feels unbelievably satisfying, the tender meat giving way beneath his hands and those nerves sending shivers up into his every touch.

"Oh!" Aziraphale murmurs, in a voice that sounds thankfully less like pain and more like surprise. An enthusiastic sort that means he's on the right track.

Every client is different. Sometimes he gets people with chronic pain, and needs to be extremely careful with some areas that would throb if he leans in too hard. Sometimes he gets veterans with old wounds from their days serving, sometimes he gets seniors with various skin conditions that have to be given extra care around the hips and back. Knowing how much pressure to use while keeping his grip firm is sometimes a difficult thing to accomplish, but judging by how Aziraphale is responding, he likes it as rough as Crowley can manage. 

Again, his brain picked a very bad choice of words.

"That- _oh_ , that feels very refreshing indeed!" Well, at least Aziraphale isn't much better. _Refreshing_ wasn't a word any sane-minded person would use for their experience at this quite frankly bollocks excuse for a spa, rundown and filled with a small team of workers that are more zombies than people. Maybe it's the instant coffee that tastes vaguely of metal, or the constant roadwork outside that makes every second of working here feel like a personal battle.

The only thing refreshing is hearing those noises that soon start tumbling from Aziraphale's mouth. 

Crowley lifts the towel higher, a few inches above his inner knee and cups the bottom of his thigh with his full hand. Oh, the skin here is fantastically soft. His squishes his fingers into tender fat he can't wait to fully explore, watching Aziraphale's expressions when he shifts his face out of the pillow to get a better breath of air.

His mouth is parted into a small "o" shape, and his eyes are clamped shut. It could be an indication that he's digging in too hard, or it could be that he's doing even better than he thought.

Fuck, he's getting too confident, too proud. 

**Focus**.

Before he can go any further on that leg, he switches over to the other and starts the same process again. Switching things up often helps keep the blood circulating, which in turn helps the muscles relax. He isn't sure if that's necessary, seeing how flushed the flesh beneath his hands is beginning after every stroke. It blooms up like a rose, muscles twitching and flexing every time he presses in.

"So that's 'refreshing', huh?" Crowley smirks, sliding his grip all the way down his leg and them back up in a smooth sweep. "How about this?" He bends down and drags an elbow across the man's thigh, digging deep and slow. 

"Mmhf!" is his only reply, the sound echoing around. Crowley can see he's gripping softly onto the sheets, hands balled up into small fists. He takes it as an indication to lessen up a little, but Aziraphale soon makes an adorable grumbling sound and strains his neck to look back at him. "Oh, you were in just the right spot! Please, can you do that again? ...Maybe a little harder?" Fuck, his every word is enough to make the hairs on the back of Crowley's neck stand up, fighting the shudders that want to come out.

"Not so sure you want to ask for that. I could easily press down too much and cause pain, and we certainly don't want to create any discomfort at Serpent Renewal Spa." He ends on a mock sales pitch voice, chuckling when Aziraphale makes a tiny whine and shakes his head stubbornly.

"It's okay, you can do whatever you want. I trust you, I know it'll feel good." Crowley had thought Aziraphale's last sentence would be the thing to undo him, but this makes him grab the edge of the table to keep himself from falling over, legs suddenly very weak. "I don't know how you're doing this...it's like every time you squeeze into me you work out a tension that's been throbbing there for months. Please, please don't try to moderate like that."

Crowley isn't sure if he's supposed to trust his instincts from his training back in the day or listen to Aziraphale...

He decides on the latter.

With a deep breath to attempt calming what frayed wiring remains of his nerves, he sinks his elbow down as hard as he can and inches upwards. He hauls handfuls of fat as he goes, using whatever dexterity remains in his fingers to delve in, feeling the muscle contract beneath his touch. 

Oh, Aziraphale is pleased with this. He lets out a long moan and arches backwards, deflating back down a moment later just to do the same thing when Crowley moves to a different section of his thigh. "Yes, that's absolutely perfect! It's so- _ahhhh_..." he doesn't have a chance to finish, seeing as the other man moves to his other thigh and shoves his elbow in there too. Crowley's arms are getting weak after not having used nearly this amount of strength for a long time now. He's pretty sure he's somewhere in the realms of a deep-tissue massage by now, and technically the body can take a lot more if only it wouldn't break his own wrists in the process. 

Aziraphale's voice is driving him to do more, to explore and feel every muscle and force the knots out. They give way beneath him and flex, relaxing and contracting intermittently. Realistically Crowley knows he's going painfully slow, but to him it feels like seconds are passing by lightning fast, each movement a personal quest to put in as much strength and precision as is possible.

\---

He repeats the same techniques over Aziraphale's back, arms and neck as their last visit, progressively feeling the man become more relaxed under his every touch. The music in the room fades in and out of his awareness as his attention is focused on hearing his voice, now a raw, free thing. He isn't putting up any show of primness and propriety, rather just letting himself really let go. It's honestly mesmerizing to watch, like a wall of carefully placed blocks have fallen down to reveal someone who just needed to slow down.

After a while though, Aziraphale becomes quiet. At first Crowley thinks he'd hurt him somehow, and quickly looks over to check on him, though when he glaces over his face for a few seconds he realizes the man had fallen asleep.

Well, that wasn't necessarily a first. Sometimes people were sleep deprived when they came in for an appointment and saw the time to lie there during a massage ample opportunity to catch up on what they'd lost. Aziraphale, though... Crowley never could've expected that. The first time he'd walked in he looked ready to cry, and now he was a- oh, _drooling_ \- bundle of blissed-out nerves beneath him.

Crowley's hands ache, his whole body in fact. He had stopped giving a damn about how long their visit had gotten roughly twenty minutes in, and now all he knew was that it was sometime late afternoon and he'd been exerting himself for much too long.

Well, he doesn't have any other appointments for today, and if he did he would've called in sick anyway.

Now, feeling his arms going limp beside his body, he pads quietly over to a chair behind the massage table, nestled between two cast iron plants. He sinks down into what little cushioning there is and sighs contentedly, watching Aziraphale's back rise and fall slowly as he gets some much-needed rest. The music has pretty much died down by now, a soft lull of quiet jazz that lingers somewhere in the forgotten radio stations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book mentioned in this chapter is fake fyi 😂 I couldn't find the masterlist of books he owns in canon...
> 
> Thanks so much for reading ❤❤❤ Have a great rest of your whatever time it is for u 🌺


	8. How Time Flies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks for waiting so long... I only left you guys hanging for like what, 6 years?? (¬_¬;)
> 
> Fun fact I actually had a piece of art I made to go along with one of these chapters that I was really proud of after working on it for ages and accidentally DELETED IT, which I was (and am) super salty about (╬▔皿▔) MY tablet also died, so I couldn't even make a replacement... I just ordered a new one, so maybe I can redo it to the best of my abilities for the last chapter. We shall see.
> 
> ALSO, yes, I am sorry, I am now going to refer to Beelzebub as Bee or Beez because now that I've stepped away from this for a while it's bothering me SO MUCH. I'm sorry I'm a normie now ;o; (I'll fix it in the previous chapters later cause it's 7am rn and I have not slept...........I have insomnia but I'm doing my best) Hastur is still called Hastur cause I cannot for the life of me figure out a substitute. Aziraphale is still Aziraphale because I am not _that_ much of a normie.
> 
> As a really important sidenote, I'm collabing on a fic with ArianaArt, so watch out for that mid-Feb!! ❤❤❤
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!! ⭐ This is a semi-short update cause ya boi is getting back in the groove ಥ_ಥ

Crowley is dozing off by the time his boss opens the door, hinges screaming in all their rusty glory. Snorting, he jumps up from his seat and almost runs into the caddy of oils, thrusting it back in place before they can crash onto the floor and fill the place with a noxious conglomeration of floral fumes.

Beez... does not look happy, he quickly realizes. Not that they ever look happy per se, but this is... oh, this isn't going to go well at _all_ , he thinks with a wince. 

"Oh, hello there, Big Bird," they say with no small amount of menace. That's their favorite name to call him when they've had it with his shite and really want to get on his nerves. The name 'Crowley' sounds nothing like _ **crow!**_ "I thought you were done an hour ago." The dark bags beneath their eyes are evidence of some especially tiresome phone calls. 

"Ah, uh-" He looks through the window and realizes the sun has already started to sink. He straightens himself up and fixes his wrinkled shirt, cheeks growing warm. "Yeah, err, lost track of time a little. Sorry about that."

Without thinking, he races over and shoves the towel back over Aziraphale's body. The idea that his boss would get the same privilege of seeing all that bare skin seems wrong. He has to protect the man's modesty and all that. Wait, does modesty even apply in a place like this? Either way, he's responsible for his client, and this one in particular needs protecting.

"You... lost track of time..." they say with a twitching eye, motioning to the sleeping man, who's still snoring softly on the table. Their tone is just quiet enough not to be heard by any other listening ears, radiating with utter spite. "Get him up. Does this look like a fucking _hotel?_ It's way past his scheduled appointment time."

"Yeah, yeah. Will do."

Crowley turns around, hoping that will signal the end of the conversation. Nope, they aren't going to have it.

"I expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning. We need to have a little chat."  
Ah, there it is. The snarl, the built-up resentment that comes out whenever they've been holding in too much shite all at once. The last time it got this bad it was because of the plumbing incident, and that _wasn't even his fault._

Crowley just nods and waits for them to leave, then he finally turns back. He brushes a knuckle over Aziraphale's cheek, hoping not to startle him. 

"Hey, you awake? Appointment's over." That's the correct thing to say, right? Straight to the point. He doesn't need to add, "Rise and shine, angel." at the end, but he does anyway, and feels immensely satisfied after it slips out.

Aziraphale's eyes flutter, the creases beneath them twitching with the movement. They are...unexpectedly blue. A deep, blue-green with soft specs of hazel that catch the light. Crowley can't help but stare at them till the other finally becomes lucid. Aziraphale shakes his head and swishes the soft blonde hair that's compressed from being mushed against the pillow for so long.

"It's... already over?" he says, voice woozy and hardly audible. It's tender, the kind of murmur one makes after a much-needed rest.

Damn everything, Crowley feels like he's broken some unspoken rule by waking him so soon. The man obviously needs about a thousand years of catch-up sleep.

"Yea, hope you weren't having a good dream. Hate to wake you, but well..."

"Oh- Ah, please accept my apology!"

He seems to grow more self-aware, trying to sit up before his relaxed muscles are ready and starts to slip off the table. Crowley reaches his hands out and holds onto him by the shoulders, steadying him in place.

"Woah there, not too fast. Give it a moment," He coaxes, backing away when Aziraphale takes a few good, deep breaths and grows more adjusted. "I must say, I'm proud. S'not often that I get clients who fall asleep all because of my work. Usually, they complain about the shite air conditioning and musty-smelling detergent we use on the towels."

"I couldn't help myself. It felt so wonderful, and my eyelids just became heavier and heavier... I don't even remember dozing off!"

"You don't have to explain yourself. You signed up for a relaxing experience, after all, and I hopefully did a decent job of helping you achieve that."

There's a part of him that hates that sentiment, because no matter what, Aziraphale's going to go back to that strenuous job of his and work himself half to death all over again. Not that it's any of his business, but... 

"All the same... oh dear, what time is it?"

Ah. He'd been hoping he wouldn't ask.

"Er...," he glances down at his watch and coughs into his elbow, shoving his wrist behind him. "...Almost six."

"Ah-!"

He bounces off the table and fumbles to collect his things, muttering words that are hard to decipher. The entire time, he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and Crowley is pretty sure his consciousness had left his body by now. His jaw slackens and he backs against the wall, trying to shield his unpure eyes from the sight- as fucking stupid as _that_ is. "Crowley, where are my clothes...?"

"Huh? Right on the counter where you left em'." 

"No, they're gone. Are you sure you didn't put them somewhere else?"

"...Oh, damnit!" he spits. He knows _exactly_ where they are now. He races out of the room and yells, "Be back in a second!" before slamming the door shut, face completely beet red.

Aziraphale awkwardly sits back down on the table and pulls the blanket over his lap, feeling a bit warm.

* * *

"Hey, just what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing with my client's clothes?" Crowley barks as he runs in to the main office and catches Hastur joking with his bastard boss over coffee. "What kind of grotesque things would a receptionist do with a customer's personal belongings?" 

"I put it in the wash. It's what we do when we find dirty laundry left out and about after hours. _Obviously._ " They regard him snidely, tipping up their chin. "Because we operate on a strict schedule, don't we? And when we let our clients stay past the time of their session, they aren't really our clients anymore, are they? Clients pay for their time."

Crowley doesn't exactly know how to respond, fuming so much his ears must be red by now. He'd left Aziraphale standing in there, nearly naked, and probably freezing to death. He's never been quite so humiliated.

Likewise, he'd been close to quitting his job plenty of times before, but now he considers just giving the bugger a good punch in the nose and leaving once and for all. They look back at him with that awful grin and chuckle, taking a long sip of their coffee- which is instant, about as bitter as their personality.

"Rules are rules, Bird-boy," Hastur chimes in, hands looking rather raw from whatever crimes against humanity he'd done to someone's shoulder blades earlier. "You should know better by now. Your sense of time can't be _that_ off."

"Your job isn't to waste our resources on customers that aren't paying for the extra time," Bee continuous, "Mr. Fell is free to leave, but if he wants to spend so much of his time here, he can damn well wait another hour or two for his clothes to go through the wash." 

"This-this has to be some sort of code violation! Look at it this way, if we give our client such a shite experience, do you really think he's going to come back? Tell his friends? If anything he'll complain about us to everyone he knows and give this entire establishment a horrible reputation. Well, a worse one anyway. Think about this logically." 

"Do you really think a bloke like _that_ has friends?" they sigh, rubbing their face with a hard scowl now that the amusement has worn off. "Look, this isn't the end of the world. We have some extra scrubs in the back. Give our _dear client_ something to wear before he complains about his decency being violated or whatever the fuck you're on about and _shut your damn trap._ Can't take a joke, can you... So dramatic. Just like that bloke from earlier...so what if he got a _mild_ concussion? How is that _my_ fault? What the shite am I supposed to do about it? Fucking loser couldn't think to scream before it got that bad? Bloody idiot..."

"This isn't a fucking _joke!"_ he snaps again, even while heading in the direction of the back room. His pulse hammers with embarrassment as he begins the search. "He's never going to forgive me for this..."

* * *

"Um...I have some _clothes_ ," Crowley whispers into the room where Aziraphale's been waiting, scared to even make eye contact with the other man. He holds up the folded scrub outfit in an outstretched hand, not even bothering to step inside the room. The floor might as well be lava. "I have some bad news. The wanker I work for took your suit and threw it in the damned _washing machine_. I... can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I promise I had nothing to do with it, but if you want to have a full refund-"

"Oh- no, no! Please don't worry about it, dear. I have many others like it at home," he's quick to reply, waving his hands dismissively. "It wasn't your fault. I'm sure they'll be fine, I'll probably just need to iron them a bit more when I get them back."

"It'll take an hour for the cycle to complete, give or take. We don't have the best equipment with our budget."

"That's alright, I'll make do with these in the meantime. It's really no problem, so please don't feel bad about it." 

Crowley turns his gaze as far as he can while the other man takes the scrubs and begins to pull them on. The dark grey contrasts perfectly with his pale, rosy skin, and since he's wearing the same uniform it almost looks like... he's wearing Crowley's- no, **_no._**

"What would you like to do till then? There are a few magazines in the lobby, though they're probably pretty trashy compared to what you read regularly."

"Hm, what do you suggest?" he says, looking down at himself with the new outfit. It looks better than Crowley expected, which is saying a _lot_. It's still a good idea to avoid looking, the redhead reminds himself, since it's very easy to stare at someone like Aziraphale even when he isn't sporting something that hugs his figure like that. "I do have paperwork to think about... but there's no use worrying about it right now, considering the circumstances."

"Pff, yeah. If you want, I can write a formal apology letter to your boss if you miss anything important because of this."

"Oh goodness!" he chuckles, though there's a bit of anxiety in his tone now. "I wouldn't suggest that. I don't think you'd like him at all. He's quite... stern."

"Hmhf, so I've heard. Maybe that's all the more reason to do it then. I'm sure he could use a good knock-knock joke to get him off whatever pedistool he's..." He clears his throat, beginning to lift off the sheets from where Aziraphale had rested during his massage. They're still warm, and he takes extra care as he pulls at the corners; goodness knows he doesn't need any more laundry massacres today. "I'm sure he's just a bit stiff. Like you."

"Well not anymore!" he laughs, wiggliing more confidently than before. Crowley only wished he could remember that movement, catalogue it somewhere in his brain for his worst days. Aziraphale was a fucking walking _serotonin rush._ "If I slept so well on that table, I imagine I'll have no trouble tonight."

He yawned into his elbow for emphasis, kicking his legs out from the chair he was seated on. "You need some help? -If I don't get in your way."

"Now, _Mr. Fell,"_ He dumped all the laundry into a hamper, giving the other an eyebrow raise. "Didn't I just spend hours getting you nice and relaxed?"

"I can't stand just sitting around like this..." he pouted, "It's not in my nature. I always have to be _doing_ something."

"Well, then why don't you...hm..."

"Hurry up in there, Bird Bird!" Bee called from the lobby, clanging their pen against their computer. "Gotta close up shop. Get your arze out here." 

"Shite- Hey! M'not leaving till Mr. Fell gets his _clothes_ back!" 

"Well'n you'll be waiting a long time. Dryer's busted again. Ready to bite the bullet and call a mechanic?" Their voice fades back into the sound of air conditioning, and the next thing Crowley knows, the veins on his head are ready to burst from the amount of humiliation he feels. 

" _ **What?!!"**_

Crowley fumes, ready to get into a yelling match with the bastard if they're trying to joke around with him again- but then Aziraphale cups a hand over his. Normally, he'd flinch at such sudden contact- or really, just about any kind of contact. Since he's been getting used to the texture of his skin in these few sessions, it doesn't feel quite so foreign.

"It's okay. They're only clothes," he says, voice gentle and smooth. "You can just give them back on my next visit."

" _Next_... Look, are you sure you even _want_ to come here anymore? I appriciate your business, I really do, but you've seen how we handle things. It's not great." He shrivels, carrying the basket over to the laundry room next door (he gives the dryer a smack with his palm for good measure.)

"It's much better than you give it credit for," he says, following behind him. "I know I've said it before, but I don't remember the last time my muscles were this at ease." He pats the other man on the back. "Come on now, it's alright. This is just a minor inconvenience."

"Ugh... Can I, er... can I at least make it up to you somehow?" He winces as he watches the suddy water swirl in the washer, wondering how bad the damage is. The detergent they use is _less than ideal._ "We could go out for coffee aga- oh, right. Scrubs."

Aziraphale thinks for a moment, but then nods.

"That's sounds nice and all, but I really should be getting home."

"Right, course'." He hopes the other man can't see how red in the face he is, mentally kicking himself over and over till his head hurts. He's wasted Mr. Fell's time, ruined his clothes... _is there anything else he can fuck up in one day?_

"... And I'd like you to come with me, if that's alright. Just for a little visit; I have plenty of tea and coffee to go around, if you'd care for a refreshment."

"Wait- you- what?" he stutters, dropping a bottle of stain remover as he whips his head around. "Go _where?"_

"Well, I run the family bookstore, remember? I've been thinking that you might like to see it, seeing as we both work at small businesses. That, and I really wouldn't want to ride the bus in _this_ all by myself." He gestures down at himself, laughing. "At least we can look a bit odd together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammmn Crowley, for a walking train wreck you're sure moving fast, aren't you? 😂
> 
> I'll hopefully be updating Making a Mockery of Sin soon as well (struggling with that since I've literally been thinking of like... flip-flopping the ratings of these two?? Which I feel like would disappoint a lot of ppl who wanted smut in that) (but then I'm like "dude the seXUAL TENSION") (but then I'm like "yeah, but they need time to chill before they'd feel comfortable enough to do that after such horror D:") (but tHEN I'm like "ok then do a time skip and make it really fluffy to make up for all th-")
> 
> ... So basically I am at a standstill because of smut, per USUAL.
> 
> *ehem*
> 
> Hope you enjoyed~ Have a great day/night/void everyone! *showers all of u in hearts*


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